


Jordan

by FaziO



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Japril - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaziO/pseuds/FaziO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Japril+1 Ficlet.<br/>Love, Loss, Divorce and New Life. Traversing the immediate aftermath of the birth of their second child, separate but together...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A Japril+1 Ficlet. Canon compliant to season 12, but elucidatory as to protagonist (or perhaps antagonist?!) point of view and obviously from my perspective. I’m open to agreeing or dissenting opinions – please feel free to use the review mechanism to do either ;-) Thank you all for the readership and interest.
> 
> Disclaimer: Borrowed characters; by tacit permission of the creator of these Grey’s Anatomy personalities. Admiration and appreciation Shonda Rhimes, for their conception and the use thereof.
> 
> PS: This was meant as an OS but, as usual, the trajectory of the story drove itself and here we are just short of 4,000 word count. So I’ve decided to break it up but it will be a short story…

He was blindsided. In shock, plain and simple.

Why today alone he’d become a husband, an expectant father to be as well as a real dad – _almost_ a single parent actually – and all this within the space of a few hours. But that wasn’t even close to the unexpectedness and mind-boggling manner of arrival with which his daughter chose to announce her entrance into this world, and no it wasn’t delivery by stork. Unless ‘Stork’ was the PC term for being ripped from a womb that was gutted (in the most clinical, non-eviscerated and non-disemboweling meaning of the word) with a sharp kitchen knife. There really wasn’t any politically correct terminology that encompassed this method of birth. Incongruously, the word ‘Labor’ didn’t cut it at all. He mentally shook his head at himself for the unintended pun. Well, not really, he realized. Unless your approach was a three-pronged assault. One: Labor, two: leading to birth and three: method of delivery via Caesarean cut. A correlated train of thought.

Trust the women in his life to upstage everything, even nuptials where they already were center stage or left of center, as it were. Being that her mother was the best-man to the groom, and the fact that at that point in time she still resided within her uterus, meant that, indirectly, she was involved in the wedding party, but it seemed that his baby girl had inherited the Catherine Avery flair for attention.

Although differently motivated, April was no slouch in that department either. Granted, she was highly competitive and boy did she love being proven correct (to be fair though, what woman didn’t, right?) but showmanship and credit was by no means her end-game. On a one-to-one basis some measure of gloating did occur, but that was endearing rather than obnoxious. On a global scale, the recognition she garnered however, was never sought after. It attached to her unwittingly and was sometimes even unwelcome. Those rare unsolicited occasions visibly made her uncomfortable with the bloom of color on her visage even travelling up to her ears. The heated blush that appeared was an immediate barometer of embarrassment and became glaringly apparent, upending like a strobe-light the status quo of her normally pale complexion. She was clearly not a celebrity-seeking prima-donna.

She was underrated but she packed quite a punch. She was a Trauma Surgeon, not for notoriety, but primarily to render assistance. Her actions were swift and precise and her words were never censored. Always with an undercurrent of kindness though. Personally and professionally she was honest to a fault (if you discounted the lateness of her pregnancy news!), and while this personality trait went unacknowledged and was unappreciated by many, he valued and respected her for the authenticity inherent in her speech. At times however, her bluntness and unfiltered thoughts and conversely her quietness (like the non-immediacy of her expectant condition!) fell into the category of things about her that he didn’t like to love.

Add to that her unwavering strength, always to the betterment of life. I mean she’d undergone a freaking C-section with ineffectively numbing ice in lieu of anesthesia. Ironically, her Emergency Caesarean was performed by a qualified anesthesiologist _minus_ his unconscious inducing drugs. Oh and let’s not forget that said doctor also happened to be a surgical intern waiting out a 6-month suspension. This being the consequence of a botched, middle of the hospital hallway, Crash C-section when the hospital was on temporary lockdown and which resulted in the death of both mother and child.

Not confidence inducing at all. Well to him at least. April, on the other hand, placed her absolute faith and trust in Ben’s capabilities and it was galling when you consider that Ben was _his_ friend. He’d been laboring under the misconception that he’d won ‘The Baileys’ in the divorce. There was that word again, the dissociative nature of which did not bode well for his peace of mind. Damn divorce. While he stubbornly resisted the implications inherent in his thoughts, a tiny unacknowledged part of him acquiesced to Ben’s past conversational gambit; yes, his judgement _had been_ severely impaired, he _did_ act in haste and he _was_ experiencing divorce remorse. Sometimes illusion should just be, he reflected, before it morphed into disillusion.

Conscious, April had experienced the layers of her abdomen being torn asunder. This at least (strange to use that term, but it was the silver lining to a stormy outcome) by a sanitized kitchen blade and not the late Ellis Grey’s old and rusty scalpel that Ben had managed to scare up. And by late he meant deceased, not delay in timing. Could a living Ellis Grey with the same tools at her disposal have done it any better than Ben’s ‘McGyver’ plan, he wondered? Recalling a comparative expression from an old Alan Rickman movie he’d watched, he supposed that they should be grateful that Ben hadn’t used a dull spoon.

Unconscious, April didn’t get to feel her child being extracted from her body or the necessity for her being packed with dish towels. She never got to know that a healthy baby girl had been born to them.

Her near-meet with The Grim Reaper covered no set formula. She arrived at the hospital out cold and intubated, and escorted straight into anesthesia administered surgery. Thankfully she’d been medically knocked out for the repair mission after her real live acquaintanceship with the pointy-end of one of Meredith Grey’s kitchen knives.

At some point prior to the ambulance pick-up she’d obviously ceased (and perhaps seized?) to breathe. Scared him to Death. With a Capital D. Into a figurative almost-meet with the non-gender specific Ripper Reaper himself. The Hollywood meet-cute version of the Angel of Death led to unrealistic real death expectations. Unless Ben Warren was the diverse cast POC substitute Joe Black. In that case he had a bone to pick with Mr. Miranda Bailey.

Today ranked up there as one of the craziest days of his life. And that was saying a lot if you considered the upheaval of the last few years and the unexpected shock and awe of this one. Despite the explosive bombshells though, normality had been attained. If by normalcy was meant routine, ordinariness, regularity and the status quo of boring same ol same ol.

Not that he had anyone else to blame for the mind-numbing tediousness and lackluster loveless life that was his, but himself. Wasn’t this what he had wished for? What he had set in motion?

Decrying the consequences and the unanticipated regret would make him appear wishy-washy and that was something he wouldn’t allow. Averys were proud. Averys were decisive. Averys had an image to project and a reputation to protect.

As for him personally, Jackson Avery had his manhood to defend. He was not being sexist or patriarchal but he had to prove, more to himself than others, that he was not a chauvinist with expectations of Provider and The Little Woman. He truly wasn’t. Neither did his personality view marriage as a casual convenience, to be arbitrarily and lightly discarded. He really didn’t. It was not masculine bravado when you refused to be seen to be controlled by your lady, true?

He wasn’t whipped, he’d divorced her ass.

This was his petulant non-verbal response to Ben. Out loud what he’d said was a simple but emotionally laden “April and I are divorced.”

He suppressed the image in his head of Ben’s self-satisfied smirk, wordlessly echoing the trite phrase, ‘Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.’ Yeah, Ben’s unvoiced taunt screamed gender role reversal or more likely equating a feminine description to anything considered weak, soft, overly or overtly emotional. Any measure of emotion really. Patriarchal chauvinistic sexism at its finest.

What confounded him was Ben’s complacent smugness. How did the other member of this two-man crew, the first being him of course, gain the upper hand in their conversation? How did this adjunct to the newly refurbished Plastics Posse J-dog dare him in the category of patience, of _all_ characteristics, while at the same time appear to placate him? And how did someone, the quintessential epitome of strong, silent and secure in his masculinity, make broad assumptions and sweeping statements, albeit true, regarding the love of a person’s life? Ben had obviously misinterpreted the official rule book; Real Men _did not_ discuss feelings! Right?

How real men _did_ bond, strictly no-homo, was by goading each other. Forgetting that this wasn’t a one-upmanship attempt with his diminutive Nazi nicknamed spouse (the likelihood of a victory in that situation being a snowballs chance in hell), Ben turned the tables on him. His method constituted a sort of commiseration, but in the way of male bonding, by provoking the other. It was macho posturing but of an unlikely category. Specifically, of having stamina, endurance and persistence. While size _did_ matter (particularly in the bedroom), Ben’s provocation was not the sexually connoted phallic physicality variety but the proportion, duration and inculcation of patience. He conceded that of the two P’s, patience and physicalness, he could claim bragging rights to only one.

Grey-Sloan Memorial was far from your average health care facility. Well to be frank it had earned the reputation of Shit-storm Central. It was the hospital unafraid to entertain the wildest, weirdest, wackiest and sometimes no-hope cases, with doctors on the cutting edge of technology, arrogance and ‘Harper Avery Award’ level superstar status. So how was it that he, mild-mannered, even tempered, non-showy or attention seeking, had managed to represent the opposite of each of these character traits?

With tongue firmly in cheek and a small measure of self-contemplation, he acceded to some cockiness. The concession was his but the blame he lay at someone else’s door. That same somebody was the one responsible for his heirloom inheritance derived from the melding of the Avery/Fox gene pool. No one exemplified haughty superiority like Catherine Avery. Her claim to Fame, as it were.

Reverting to the exciting, out of the norm circumstances of this morning, he acknowledged that his marital status and one baby-mama drama was an elderly trauma patient’s dementia induced imagination.

When Louise had said, “Where were you? You left me all alone. You should have been there for me, should have taken care of me. That’s what a husband does,” he’d been knocked for a loop. And the kicker, “Don’t leave me, don’t…please…”

The mirror she held up to him held a sobering reflection, but while the barge had set sail traversing that river in Egypt, Denial covered a vast expense before the end destination of acceptance of his own culpability even glimmered on the horizon. Add to that his default method of personal conflict resolution being avoidance and disregard that the problem and resultant emotions even existed. Extreme DE-NILE. Sometimes a physical and sometimes a mental escape.

The realization of Louise’s neural deficits regressing her to a past where she mistakenly identified him as her husband, had thrown him off kilter for a brief moment but his training had swiftly kicked in and he’d immediately tried to calm and reassure her. Dictated by circumstance and taking a leaf out of his ex-wife’s book on patient care and etiquette (thankfully not escaping as the _other_ idiomatic expression referencing leafs indicated, specifically ‘make like a tree and leaf’) this meant that Patient Louise became as she thought she was…his wife. Silver Fox Cougar to his Toy Boy if one were to heed amused intern gossip.

He’d cocked it up though. Believing for a brief moment that perhaps lucidity and awareness had returned to her but continuing on the same tack when that hypothesis was swiftly debunked, he considered that maybe he could help snap her out of the episode of regression she was experiencing. He tried explaining that she’d been brought to the hospital by her son Donnie, the son she didn’t know she had. The upshot of _that_ misunderstanding being that JLo were having a baby.

JLo. He sniggered at the amalgamation of their names. It was comical (not her condition of course, but the resultant miscalculation) and even though the joke was at his expense, he owned it. Perhaps there was a tiny degree of self-deprecation involved but the majority of the incident was entertaining and perchance diverting. Why should IICC or better yet IC squared (Intern Isaac Cross and Co…duh!) be the only ones laughing it up? Where was the fun in that?

“She’s here…she’s been waiting for you,” he smilingly held their little one up. Riding on the high of a euphoric coupling of relief and delight he concentrated solely on the latter sensation. Introspection and analysis would come later, when he was alone and ready to face the underlying meaning of the day’s events. Under a different set of circumstances, he would hold up the baby in Lion King Formation and perhaps hum a few bars of ‘The Circle of Life’, the opening song from the movie. April would micro manage his baby holding technique and perhaps lovingly scold him. She would be charmed though by the pride inherent in his actions. His Simba had arrived. She was and would continue to be the essence of the Avery Legacy. Divorce being the presiding condition however, he simply held The Legacy up to her mother’s face.

“Excuse me Dr. Avery, your wife is awake,” Cross sniggered, interrupting the moment.

“Oh, is Tatiana here today?” April questioned.

And he was floored.

“Who is Tatiana? I’m talking about Louise. How many wives you got here Dr. Avery?”

Apparently Dr. Isaac Cross had been absent on the day they covered sensitivity training and appropriate bedside manner.

Cross had been messing with him about Louise’s confused state of mind and yeah he acknowledged that they were a sick bunch for finding amusement in the situation. He figured that their highly stressful occupations required a diffusion of tension and a tempering of the inevitable crash after an extreme adrenaline rush. So in most cases Laughter became the Best Medicine.

“Uhhm…err…aah…” he nervously chuckled as he tried gathering his thoughts for a short explanation of the situation while at the same time attempting to process April’s question.

He deduced that she was still groggy and slightly out of it with the focus of all her attention centered solely on the miracle in her arms. Although, her grip was a surprisingly steady one. Enough to render him redundant. At this point his hold on the baby was simply window dressing.

“Go on, I’ve got her,” April softly remarked, seemingly more alert yet uninterested in becoming enlightened regarding the fake afflictions of his fake marriage.

Though startling, the resolve in her voiced order brooked no refusal. He immediately capitulated. But he ensured that a nurse was on hand to assist.

Unaware that Cross was not trailing him, he swiftly set-off, his mind a jumble of asks.

What did she mean by that odd question? She’d always supported his career and had the utmost faith in his abilities, many a time even superseding _his_ doubts. So why bring Tatiana into the mix now? It was no random comment either and neither was the enquiry made in jest. Wasn’t it generally known that people were most honest and uninhibited when inebriated by drink or high on drugs? Or in this case coming off anesthesia? Where was she going with this?! What was the significance of the implication inherent in that question; equating a long-term patient with the role of wife? It’s not like he ever prioritized patients generally, and Tatiana specifically, above his family? Right?!

Today too was out of his control. It pained him that he wasn’t there for the birth of their child. He’d had no inkling however, and he wondered at his own carelessness in not responding to the voice message from April. He’d been too occupied with surgery to attend to missed calls, _whoever_ they were from and well Louise had needed him…

Okay, so he’d become close to Tatiana over the years and perhaps confiding in her about the status of his marriage hadn’t been entirely appropriate. April didn’t know that though and anyway where was she when he needed a confidant? He’d never had to tell her these things before! They’d constantly and consistently been in-sync, she’d _always_ known his mind…before Samuel, that is.

So what if Tatiana became his friend? It was all innocent and aboveboard. I mean he’d given her away at her wedding and standing in as her father figure he’d dispensed marital counsel to her too. So maybe the advice was _slightly_ hypocritical since he was the fool doling it out but not taking it for himself. Perhaps the guidance itself was at fault. Bad advice. And besides April knew nothing of this.

So of course Tatiana never took precedence over April. I mean he’d prioritized the divorce – why he was almost late to Tatiana’s wedding! And when he’d bumped up joining April in Jordan to priority code red, in essence willing to follow his wife’s career (he wasn’t even gonna dredge up the other motives, that would require self-analysis that he was still not ready to contemplate) circumstance had intervened. Missing the flight had been a sign. A strong indication, kinda like the first time they’d broken up. Of course he didn’t believe in fate and signs, so yeah…

“Cross, what…” he turned around to question the intern, finding him lagging way behind. Exasperated, he waited for him to catch up before he continued on towards their patient.

“What did Louise need from me? Was she alert, aware of the surgery? Did she ask for me?” he shot off, eager now to get this over with so that he could return to his actual family and maybe get some answers from April. Beneath his calm exterior, his temper was on a slow simmer.

“I…I don’t know sir. You just told me to let you know when she woke up,” Cross stuttered and under his breath which Jackson was easily able to decipher, “besides you don’t want anyone to touch your patients. And patients always come first, you said.”

“That was before Dr. Cross! I’m officially on paternity leave now. Check with Dr. Bailey and whoever’s covering my post-ops go speak to them,” he replied clearly frustrated with the level of incompetence he had to deal with.

Doing an about-turn, he left Cross to flounder through the quagmire of the imagined marital state of affairs that was definitely not his. He had a real ex-wife and a baby daughter to return to. Today _they_ were his priority.

Approaching April’s room he watched as the nurse he’d instructed to assist April with the baby exited, while a woman he didn’t recognize entered. Irritated at arriving second and having to wait he nonetheless decided not to intrude on the visit. Perhaps the interloper had mistaken the room number and would leave soon. He couldn’t be sure though, as he was no longer privy to April’s acquaintances. One thing he knew though, people naturally gravitated towards her. She was the mothering sort. Their daughter was lucky to have her as a parent and role-model.

Curious as to the mysterious identity, he hovered out of view of the room’s occupants while blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation happening within the walls of his hospital. Okay, no his, but the hospital he had a major (51% to be precise) hand in running.

“I see congratulations are in order! A little girl hey? What pretty skin, like Beyoncé! And how is mom feeling?”

“Yeah, she’s here. Impatient, so she came a little early, but we’re good. Thank you for the visit, Sharon. To be honest I didn’t expect that Lamaze Instructors were so interactive with their attendees,” April responded, clearing up the conundrum of who her visitor was. Similar to April however, he was just as confused as to the why of the intrusion.

“Oh, I was in the neighbourhood,” Lamaze Lucy laughed. “Actually I’m here to see one of my other couples who had a baby too and when I heard you were here I thought I’d drop in to see how you were doing. I see the dad isn’t here? Just like the classes. You came to every one alone and I worried that you didn’t have anyone.”

What the hell, he wondered? At face value her words seemed to connote concern but he possessed a discerning ear for racist discriminatory undertones. The unspoken phrase ‘Deadbeat Dad’ seemed to echo loudly between the comprehending females in the room and the impression of dripping scorn for him, the absentee black father, left a bitter taste. Who the fuck did this woman think she was to sit in judgement of him? He was perplexed too at April’s silence when no clarification was forthcoming.

“Anyhoo,” Sharon continued, “how was the birth? The Lamaze method must have helped and I remember you saying that you were doing yoga too. The breathing techniques of both make labour a breeze.”

His feelings were a jumbled mess. Interspersed with his previous internal temper tantrum was some disgust at this insensitive, interfering, moronic woman but the predominant emotion of the moment was disappointment, leading to sadness. He’d respected April’s privacy and her rights. As she’d said to him on the day that he found out she was pregnant with his baby, “My body, my baby.” It was his comeuppance, he figured. He’d asked for the divorce and in so doing he’d lost out on all the treasured moments. All the joy and anticipation of precious life. He’d only had one opportunity to touch her belly and that was when she herself allowed him to feel their baby kicking. Damn Divorce.

“Actually, I had a C-section, but the breathing exercises never went to waste,” April responded, her voice sounding quite exhausted now, but this still had no impact on clueless Sharon. Maybe he needed to step in and usher the unwelcome guest out.

“So does this cutie have a name yet?”

“Yes. It’s Jordan. Jordan Kepner.”

WTF April?!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here we are, the continuation. As usual, thank you to all the usual suspects (and guests too) for your thoughts. I like knowing what you take away from the story. The human brain, encompassing a person’s imagination, is so unique and amazing that each one gets a different picture and perhaps highlights a divergent point or scenario. That’s fascinating to me and I think it’s fantastic that no two people read the situation with the same meaning. Anyway…let’s carry on. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All kudos to Shonda Rhimes, it’s HER Grey’s Anatomy ;-)

Jaw-dropping. Wide eyed. Stunned look.

He never thought he’d ever be _that_ guy. The one physically manifesting the state of idiocy his blank expression and open-mouthed stare suggested. He had swag, he was cool. Well okay, cool people never said they were cool. It was simply an in-bred attitude that was apparent but never verbally expressed. So, contrary to his dumfounded appearance, he was calm, chill and unsurprised, right?

No…Fuck that! April had just named his daughter. Without consulting him. With a name that was a head-on confrontation of what lead to the downfall of their marriage. And severely lacking a vital component, A VERY important element. His legacy dammit! What the hell was she thinking?!

Was this her shot across the bow? Her intent to call a cessation to their ceasefire? A return to hostilities?

So immersed was he in his mind castigations of April that he failed to notice the physical foot traffic to and subsequent increased occupancy of her hospital room. Until the cacophony of voices overriding each other dragged him out of his mental stupor. Where were the Gestapo Nurses when you needed them, he wondered and who the blazes was running the Maternity Wing of Grey Sloan Memorial?!

It seriously did not bode well for the staff. How was it possible that in a hospital, whose majority shareholding was The Harper Avery Trust, that an Avery herself couldn’t receive peace and quiet to acclimatize her to her new digs? On the other hand, perhaps everyone and their Lamaze Instructor were aware that the newest Avery was not named Avery at all. And wasn’t he back to fuming internally?! You betcha ass he was!

Prompted by righteous indignation, he decided to plunge into the fray too. He was putting his foot down, from day one. That is until he recognized one of the visitors. He was clearly able to identify the strident tone of voice which, comically, she tried to tone down. Still, she managed to dominate everyone in the vicinity. Not with the volume of her voice, mind you, but with its forcefulness. He was sure that in normal circumstances his newborn’s cry too would have been overridden. Thankfully the baby slept on, unawares.

He refused to call his daughter Jordan. _That_ would not be her name. He was vaguely aware of references to The River Jordan in The Bible and he could have lived with that. To be fair though, April had given the nod to Norbert as a middle name the last time, to please him. So, to satisfy her, he figured, what was a little religious allusion to a non-believer? What he couldn’t accept however, was the reminder that Jordan was the Middle Eastern Country that was complicit in the decimation of his marriage. He introspected, with _slight_ sarcasm, that it was the vacation destination that failed them both. April in her escape to it and him in his failure to escape to it…and to her.

Yes, he blamed her for leaving him when he needed her, but in the deep recesses of his consciousness he confronted the fact that he’d failed her too. Jordan, the country, was a catalyst to _both_ their shortcomings and he didn’t see how he would be able to view it any other way. No way José.

Desisting, he decided to cease his headlong flight into the hospital room that had managed to acquire yet two more occupants within the short space of his attentive inaction. At least nurses still worked there. Back to the original visitor though. Well, not really he realized. Sharon had been the original – the information-sucking vampire. As his back had been turned, allowing him a measure of privacy in the face of anyone observing his antics, and further, adjusting to the bombshell April had dropped, he was unaware of which of the other two guests slipped into the room next.

He resisted making his presence known. He was not going to give his mother further ammunition to use against April. He knew when to get himself some power and now was not the time. The naming of the heir to the Avery Dynasty would be hashed out by her parents...and _only_ by her parents. No matriarchal interference allowed. So, observation and not participation in this melee was key. Especially once he noted that Ben, last of the original trio of room dwellers, was on hand to assist April...once again. His homie Ben. _His_ representative.

Having a front row seat to any Catherine Avery attempted shenanigans, he closely and with much interest observed the accomplishment of Ben’s intervention – no blood-letting and minimal casualty. It was like being the sole spectator to a silent movie, watching Ben finesse Sharon and the two maternity nurses towards the exit. Seemed the witnessed tableau occurred in the midst of a shift change.

He was slightly in awe at how swiftly Ben was able to orchestrate the exodus. The guy had serious cojones, he thought. Well, he was married to the pint-sized, firmly opinionated Chief of Surgery and all joking aside Miranda Bailey would not choose someone she could not respect. The new shift nurse, identified by her name-tag as Nurse Betty, did not look like a pushover either. Although, contrary to policy, she was the one who left the baby, asleep for the moment in her clear plastic portable crib, together with the new mom instead of moving her to the nursery. So perhaps a soft touch after all? Or Ben’s persuasive sway?

Most likely though it was all April being April. She had that effect on people. She was the most unbiased person he’d ever come across in his lifetime. She was the only surgeon he knew that bothered to get to know the name of every single person working at the hospital and all because of that metaphorical big heart, big brain and big ears of hers. She listened, with an open mind and genuine caring and emotion. People were naturally drawn to her. Case in point, one lagging Lamaze Instructor, who was almost ruining Ben’s hat trick of assisted exits.

He recognized that as couple friends, The Baileys and The Averys would have been an ideal fit. April and Ben were the friendly open ones whereas he and Bailey were hesitant and cautious. Even the way they saved their spouses names on their mobiles were a match. He’d been speaking to Ben Warren (full name) on Bailey’s phone today and yes he still had April Kepner listed on his mobile. Opposites worked…or not, considering The Averys were not together anymore. Damn divorce.

Maestro Ben conducted his symphony, his surgeon’s hands the baton he used to guide the protesting triumvirate away from the family drama about to erupt. Curiosity stayed his own movements but he made a promise to himself to 86 Catherine’s visit if she got out of hand. Avoiding his parent was one thing and while it no longer was April’s responsibility (more choice than duty really) to kow-tow to her, for the sake of peace he was prepared to let sleeping dogs lie. On the other hand, the entertainment value of riled up Avery women squaring off against each other was priceless. April had come into her own and it went without saying, he loved when she became the epitome of confidence.

She’s every woman, it’s all in her. The lyrics buzzed in his brain. In first person narrative of course. He had no hang-ups about his masculinity, toxic or otherwise, but it _was_ April he was ruminating on. The empowering feminine message personified all of womanhood that April was. She slayed. And well, the question of his virile manliness was superfluous as without trying to he’d managed to knock her up. Twice.

Back to _both_ the adult women in his life though. He’d discovered, to his detriment, that his intervention in any interactions that involved his blood relation versus his relationship of choice (son and husband; his very own version of nature and nurture he supposed) simply seemed to exacerbate hostilities amongst them. He had been quite literally, and at times figuratively, caught in-between and outflanked by these strong women. Stuck in the middle of two.

Now while his sharp ear was dialed in to the frequency of the talk-show showdown between these mothers – his own and his child’s – his attention was momentarily diverted to the overt racism playing out in the doorway. White fragility and privilege intersecting with learned and blatant bigotry. It seemed that Ben got the brunt of the disdain Sharon meted out and he wondered if it was a case of mistaken identity. Sharp and savvy as he was dressed, Ben looked the part of visitor. Was the covert contempt and thinly veiled condescension that Sharon revealed meant for April’s baby daddy?

Perhaps it was a multi-pronged assault. The imagined fear of melanin combined with ignorant perceptions. He received a confirmation of sorts from her subsequent actions. The deliberate snub of Ben, the contemptuous sliding away from his guiding arm and most telling the tightening of her hand on the handle of her handbag. Sharon personified the persistent, ingrained, over-imaginative white fear of black men. He received an identical measure of treatment as she slunk past him until she literally backtracked upon noticing his own fair-skinned privilege. His celebrity status, as it were.

It was the eyes. They got to them every time. It helped that he wore a white doctor’s coat and possessed lighter skin but in his experience those were simply bonuses. He was somehow deemed as being more worthy of their attention, having the much prized European beauty standard which indicated that white had a hand in his make-up. It pissed him off no end.

There was also the contingent that prized having bi-racial babies even while displaying their own bias. An unrelenting, subconscious prejudice that they doled out to the anticipated offspring. Not his personal experience and neither would it be his daughter’s, thankfully. This home-front racism inculcated individual self-hatred and enabled anti-blackness. It created an army of distinct black apologists and it bred a mindset that was abhorrent to him.

The predisposition towards prejudice was so embedded within their psyche that even white doctors he knew and worked with, unconsciously displayed that outlook. An active example of unaware cognitive dissonance. Enlightening these intellectuals, or rather endeavouring to, didn’t help either.

“Being woke,” he tried to explain, required a continuous process of educating oneself and knowing when not to intrude. Supposed allies to the cause were so puffed up with their own arrogance and blinded by their deeply entrenched privilege that they failed to recognize the supercilious condescension of their words, exemplified by a statement he’d heard just recently from a colleague.

“I am working my ass off choosing to engage with ignorance. Can you back up and give me a break? I don't need schoolin!” she’d said. It was a new version ‘I've always been good to you people’ standard.

The sad reality was that this so called support demanded special recognition for not being violently racist like for example redneck bigots, KKK affiliates or even Trump supporters. White privilege always wanted to argue or talk over, he realized, instead of attempting to hear with comprehension. A knee-jerk reaction to criticism, yes, with no consideration as to the effect their language had on attitudes.

Either way, it was neither Ben’s nor his job, to appease Sharon’s ego or to pacify her exaggerated sense of entitlement or moreover to mollify her white tears. Even regarding something as innocent as personal information or the identity of the father of April’s baby. With the abundance of cyber theft and identity fraud however, basic personal information too was no longer blameless. Being a black man in the US, brutalized by the system, the burden was not theirs to comfort the white bystander. Perhaps he should put that in a speech, he mentally quipped. Maybe at the next Harper Avery Awards?

He reckoned that Sharon was one of two types of bigots. The first type, like his co-worker, whose anti-black racism and self-denial ran so deep they failed to acknowledge not only the prejudice itself but also the privilege that went hand in glove with it. The second being an ‘All Lives Matter’ proponent. Someone whose white superiority demanded constant attention and whose ego could not handle any form of exclusion, especially a conversation they held no part in.

With all of these thoughts flashing in quick succession through his mind, he totally ignored Sharon’s presence and her attempt to engage him in conversation. It was not the Avery way, since good manners and etiquette were part of his DNA. He’d learnt over time however, to differentiate between those who deserved his respect and moreover, his time. So, to him, Sharon simply did not exist. He heard a huff of indignation at his obvious slight, but he simply disregarded that too. He was not interested in her pique or her white tears.   

He figured that if this Becky with delusions of entitlement, couldn’t keep it together enough to check her white privilege, then that was just too bad. Perhaps she could self-soothe and placate her ego by lobbying against him. Maybe with a Petition to UnAvery him.

He could change his name to Kepner, he supposed. At least that way he would get to share it with the family of his creation. It mattered not that he and April were divorced, their children ensured that they would always be a family. Out of the norm and anything but average; an unorthodox unit of measurement. Still family though.

Not that he had expectations of excommunication from Averydom. For even though a grandiose intellectual, white, male and elite, had, by means of his privilege, pioneered amazing medical breakthroughs, _his_ inheritance and perpetuation of the legacy were via a revolutionary African American Woman. She was the current Avery Matriarch, daughter-in-law to the great Harper Avery himself! And mother to the even greater Jackson Kepner? Nah, he was just messing. So good luck to any redneck frailty masquerading as righteous outrage.

Since Ben had inadvertently escorted Bigoted Barbie out of the room, he had been a witness too to Jackson’s brushoff. Ben non-verbally acknowledged this gesture of brotherhood with a nod and in turn pantomimed the Black Power Salute. Accepting this affirmation of his action, or rather non-action, he returned the motion and made a move towards entering April’s temporary abode. Understanding that Jackson didn’t want to cause a ruckus but that he _did_ want to remove Catherine from the vicinity before the commotion became inevitable, Ben stayed him and signalled an “I got this” movement. Nodding a reciprocal appreciation and acceptance, he simply went back to his eavesdropping while Ben continued inward to enable Catherine’s exit.

“She looks just like Jackson did when he was born,” he heard his mother proclaim, smirking at the confirmation while mentally high-fiving himself. Not that she was biased or anything, right? He was grateful for the fact that _all_ that had seemed to happen in the interim, since the two nurses, Sharon and Ben had left the room, was oohing and aahing over the baby.

“She _does_ resemble Jackson, but her face is much rounder,” April laughed and he grinned goofily at her response, pleased with her cordiality towards Catherine.

Having re-entered the room Ben butted into the convo…and totally imploded the tête-à-tête. It started off innocently enough and he assumed that Ben had no idea the shitstorm he was unleashing with his statements. Perhaps it was simply his presence that Catherine took offense to.

“She looks a lot like you too, April. Those gorgeous dimples were apparent from the get-go. And her cool calmness in the face of the uproar she caused…all you!” Ben alleged and although he couldn’t witness it, he’d bet his bottom dollar that it was accompanied by a wink.

“What uproar Ben?” April replied with a smile in her voice. “This was Trauma Certification 101 and you aced it Intern Warren!”

This time he couldn’t resist and took a peek around the doorway entrance. Just in time to witness the Kepner/Warren high five. His second, uttered under the breath, WTF expletive in the space of an hour! That was _their_ thing! The unrequited high five of love. Why was she sharing _their_ kind of moment, of praise and acknowledgement, of course, but with hidden undertones, with Ben Warren?!

What kind of Sirens magical hold over him did this diminutive redhead possess, he wondered? To a degree that sane thought escaped him and his own mind played tricks of unreasonableness.    

Wanting to intervene, he watched and listened as his mom picked up the conversational lure. Unfortunately (or was it fortunately in this instance?) not addressing his jealous insecurities. Or did it?

“What do you mean dear? Why was Dr. Warren there? And where was Jackson? Did you not let him know about the delivery? Or is the restraining order still in effect?” his mother demanded of April.

“Oh, didn’t you know Catherine? Jordan was born by C-section at Meredith Grey’s home and Ben here performed the procedure,” April replied.

“Jordan? What kind of gender neutral name is that for an Avery girl? Enough of your biblical references April! Did you arrange for that ridiculous home birth situation? You _are_ a doctor aren’t you? Why at Dr. Grey’s house? Didn’t Jackson give you his apartment? And that doesn’t explain why Jackson wasn’t notified and why you had a suspended surgical intern perform the surgery? Do you hate us that much that you were willing to lose your ticket to the Avery fortune?” his mother acerbically questioned, going full-on gang busters.

It was way past time for him to intercede, he realized but before he could interrupt, April responded. The occupants of the room were so immersed in the drama unfolding that none were the wiser to his presence. Well, except for Ben, who believed he was outside the room.

“It was an EMERGENCY Caesarean, Catherine, and I trust Ben implicitly. You know I never wanted your money! Are you simply upset that you didn’t get to my doctor first huh? Ben could have so easily made sure that I never woke up from the operation right? It’s what you wanted, me out of the picture and you with your precious Avery heir to mould in your image? I heard you, you know, on that day when you tried to con me with fake kindness and interest. I heard you tell the chief…the old chief, that it was the Avery plan to get full custody of MY baby! I can’t believe I thought your concern was real. But I learnt. From the very best actually. Only next time don’t discuss your nefarious schemes where anyone can overhear. And her name is Jordan KEPNER!” April angrily but softly defended, emphasizing words but keeping it on the DL, the down low. Discrete but also quiet, so as not to awaken the baby.           

And mystery solved. Remembering that day and how he couldn’t reconcile the change in behaviour from April’s “Let’s talk about it” to the Process Server’s “Dr. Avery, you’ve been served.” From any other woman he would have viewed it as retaliation for the divorce but April had been fine with the damn divorce and the conduct itself had been unbecoming of April Kepner.

Here was confirmation of how right he was about April’s character and how his interfering mother was to blame for the almost custody battle, which he never should have allowed to get that far in the first place. He was appalled at himself. He’d have used the Avery wealth and its connotations to ensure that April lost yet another child. His self-disgust multiplied when he recalled hearing her instruction just before Ben sliced into her abdomen. “You save the baby, Ben,” she’d begged.

She put their daughter’s life above her own while all he’d done was leave her with memories of middle of the hospital hallway arguments, chastisements for not getting an abortion to avoid a repetition of their past experience and finally the fear of looming custody battles. Not to mention the vitriol of those arguments. Accusing her of playing the martyr and how he was done with her and his child. And his own cowardice when he said how they were not worth fighting for.

He was deeply ashamed of himself. Not the least of his abhorrent actions was when he grabbed her arm and the violence he displayed on the day of her pregnancy reveal. The fear on her face…it was something he would never forget and behaviour he promised himself he would never, ever repeat.

Although advised not to move because of her stitches and obviously still in pain, that did not stop April’s defensive instincts. It seemed that she was not falling for that again. Hovering over the crib, body hunched in a protective posture, she soothed the baby while simultaneously side-eyeing her ex-mother in law. Who was not letting up either.

“Oh don’t give me that BS April! You are the most selfish person I know. You didn’t even call your husband on the anniversary of your son’s death! How do you think he handled that?! He’s so much better off without you in his life!”

“I _did_ call Catherine! Or at least I tried to…all throughout that horrible day. I couldn’t get through…” April finished on a whisper. “But you’re right about one thing,” she continued, “I _was_ selfish.”

“Pfft, and admitting to that does what for us Dr. Kepner?”

His mother _would not_ let up, give an inch or the benefit of the doubt. But this was something he needed to hear.

“Strangely I thought that was what marriage was. One person carrying another through a difficult time. He never said he wasn’t okay. While I couldn’t function he was back at work within days. He got over it so easily…so quickly, and I couldn’t move. I was selfish and I expected him to let me be selfish in my grief. I would have reciprocated in his grief. I actually thought that I would be there for him when you died, allow him to be as selfish as he needed, to lash out at me even…I would have taken it all. But that’s not what marriage is to you Averys right? And well, to spite me I’m sure you’ll outlive us all.”

While he reflected on the truth of April’s words, he stood there in a stunned stupor. His mother, on the other hand, recognising the veracity and emotional honesty that April always spoke with, jumped onto another topic.

“Jordan Kepner! I won’t allow it! And neither will my son!”

“Well the other option is giving a nod to Dr. Warren over here. He is a part of Jackson’s Plastics Posse. Although…I’m hoping to convince him to abdicate and come over to Badass Team Trauma?” April glanced over her shoulder, addressing Ben. “So Benedicta Cumberbatch Kepner…dash Avery? What do you think little one?” she turned back to consult with their daughter. It was so ridiculous that she had to be messing with them. Right?! Of course Ben was his friend but no way was he naming his daughter after him, or that ridiculous English Sherlock Holmes character. No way José.

“So Grandma Avery, would you very much like to be excluded from this narrative, huh?” April questioned clearly not giving a damn but enjoying his mother’s apoplectic expressions. He did mention, did he not, that Avery Women knock-out, drag down fights were immensely entertaining and April had developed a special knack for winning. Ironically, from the moment she stopped being an Avery.

He shook his head at the question but ignored the Taylor Swift trending hashtag turned into meme. April was social media savvy but he doubted that his mother got the reference. But the title, Grandmother Avery, _that_ she didn’t like _,_ he noted. It immediately aged her. Conversely, not as much as April directly referencing her death. While the notion of becoming a grandmother had been appealing the direct confrontation of her advancing years and hence her own mortality was bittersweet.

Enough was enough, he decided. His brain was on information overload and while he’d observed April’s proverbial mic drop, she obviously got her own back in the verbal skirmish with the superior Catherine Avery, so he concluded that it was time for his mother to make like a tree and leaf. He escorted her out, surprising both her and April by suddenly appearing. He was like the genie in the bottle…or was it a lamp? He’d have to bone up on both popular culture and cartoon network, he realized, but he had some time. He could tell that neither his mom nor April, could hazard a guess as to how much, if at all, of their conversation he’d been privy to. His mother was unexpectedly docile and left without another word to any of them.

He’d tried to talk to her but apparently his mother was as tuckered out as his daughter. Nobody had stamina like his April…ehrm, he meant his ex-wife. So he turned around and found himself once more outside April’s room. Once again an unintentional spying, prying observer. Ben noticed his hesitation but motioned him away. April noticed him not at all, her attention solely settled on their tiny bundle of joy.

“So, Jordan Kepner huh?” he heard Ben ask and figured that his bro was trying to get him some answers to counter the name equation.

“What, no Benita Warren Cumberpatch Kepner Avery?” April laughingly countered. “Sorry Ben, I really like you but no way in he..ck am I gonna do that to my daughter. Sorry…have to watch the language with little ears around. Although, I doubt there’ll be much control once she watches the NBA with her dad!”

“Yeah, I figured that was a massive put on,” Ben laughed along with April. “And hey I understand. I wouldn’t name my _own_ daughter after me! How the hel…err heck do you feminize Ben? But…Jordan Kepner? Why?”

“She chose it herself, Ben!”

“Come on, now you’re really pulling a fast one April!” Ben exclaimed.

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. When I was reading the baby name book, every time I said Jordan, she would kick. Once she even knocked the book off my belly. And you should have seen the party going on in my tummy when we watched Space Jam the other night. She _loves_ Michael Jordan, I tell you.”

“So…it’s for Michael Jordan? Not Jordan, the country near Syria? Where you ran off too?” he blatantly came out and asked.

“Firstly, I didn’t run off. It was effective Trauma training that happened to be in Jordan. And secondly, it’s always been about Michael Jordan. He’s Jackson’s hero, you know. Of course you do. Last week I overheard you and Jackson discussing basketball statistics in the passage when I passed and the moment Jordan’s name came up, there she went into hyper-drive. It could be that it was a combination though. Anytime we heard Jackson’s voice, there would be a dance party too. So both combined got her pretty riled up. And anyway, I don’t really like last names as first names, but this little one wants to be just like her daddy, so there you go.”

Ben smiled, but threw in one final question. “But why Kepner?”

“Oh, that was just to put off that nosy Lamaze Teacher, Sharon. She loves digging dirt and I didn’t want her gossiping about the Avery name and well Catherine just pushed my buttons so I reciprocated. See here Ben,” she stopped and in his mind’s eye he saw her grabbing Ben’s hand and pulling him over to the crib, “officially meet the baby you delivered…Jordan Kepner-Avery.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, tiny Avery. Jordan Kepner-Avery is a fine name,” he acknowledged and Jackson had to admit, knowing the reasons, that it had a nice ring to it.

“Thank you, Ben. Thank you for saving my baby.”

Yeah, he totally agreed with the sentiment. Thank you Ben for saving them both.

He decided that he needed to do something he’d ignored doing. When he had the time, he’d been too worked up to get to it. So now was the perfect opportunity. He wanted, no, he needed, to buy the mother of Jordan Kepner-Avery the biggest bouquet of Tulips he could find.

Approaching the hospital room with flowers in tow, he heard the melody that was his baby crying. He was just in time to see Arizona pull the privacy curtains closed so he rightly assumed that April was gonna give breast-feeding a shot. Being the unhusband, his company was unwelcome. Damn Divorce. So he set the Tulip Bouquet down and settled comfortably into a visitor’s chair to await his official meeting with his daughter. April had converted his No way José to a Right on Jordan.

Jordan Kepner-Avery. He loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading and for your patience in waiting for this chapter. So much for a short story, hey :) Well there’s one more chapter to go and two more conversations for Jackson to overhear. I appreciate the interest in this ficlet and I would just like to iterate that some words and phrases that appear here have, with intent, been regurgitated from other social media platforms. All rights belong to the originator. Being that this is fanfiction, it is inferred that this occurs regularly. So with no malice intended I concur that I have introduced speech of non-fictional characters into this work of fiction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for the continued interest. For the purpose of this story, Jackson’s behavior in not stepping in and stepping up for April may seem OOC, but I assure you there’s method to the madness. As it is first person POV, that person being Jackson Avery, for him to find out all that he needs to know and process it had to be done via eavesdropping on April’s various conversations. So, essentially, and as my friend Carina so amusingly observed, Jackson Avery is basically a stalker in this fic ;-) and for those literal interpreters, I mean that in a most non-threatening, non-intimidating simply humorous way. Hope you enjoy and feel free to drop me a line. 
> 
> Disclaimer: GA is not mine. Thank you though, Shonda Rhimes, for allowing me to delve into the minds and observable actions of your characters :-)

“Well, it appears that your tiny human knows exactly what she wants and she’s a hungry little bugger!” Arizona’s voice carried to where he anxiously waited, slumped and relaxed yet contrarily on the edge of his seat. Figuratively speaking, of course. In the general scheme of things a literal edge of the seat posture definitely did not signify a tranquil frame of mind. And yes, the dimness of his normally piercing gaze coupled with his calmly waiting look (perhaps his own version ‘Blue Steel, Derek Zoolander’ pose), denoted the comfortable exhaustion he felt.

“Yeah, she latched on real fast. Girl knows where her foods at. We tried earlier too, just after Jackson brought her to me,” he overheard, surprised that in the short space of his absence, when he left after introducing mother and child, that he’d missed the first feed.

Dismissing the tug on his heartstrings that the thought and corresponding image evoked, he deemed the disappointment he experienced as an overly sensitive, impassioned response. And well they were uncoupled co-parents (whatever the freaking hell those PC terms meant), so probably he would have been asked to leave, or more likely he would have left of his own volition when the baby needed to nurse.

Canning those thoughts and brushing aside those emotional reactions, he sat there still, unmoving; an unintentional eavesdropper. Or so he justified it. Accidental and unplanned listener. Okay fine...he admitted that he was simply too exhausted to attempt any motion away from the comfy spot he’d appropriated. Transporting himself required a mental drive to physical action, and movement was absent from the repertoire of feats that he was capable of at that moment in time.

But listening he had no problem with. He could armchair snoop without lifting a finger.

“Why are you trying to sit upright April? Your incision is barely hours old and we don’t want you re-opening the cut.”

“It’s fine Arizona, although a bit uncomfortable trying to breast-feed while flat and not moving. Don’t worry, I’ll try not to jostle too much.”

Damn April Kepner stubbornness. He had half a mind to barge through those curtains and demand that she take care of herself. And if he had to hold her breast up to the baby to feed, then so be it. He was the dad, wasn’t he? And this was simply a biological imperative. A reproductive, essentially nurturing function.

Yeah right, his inner devil replied. To which his alter ego self-righteously argued the point. He was not an uncouth youth who could not restrain himself in front of a pair of knockers…err breasts. In fact breasts as sexual fetishes were a cultural construct. And Western Society, where patriarchy made the rules, had latched onto the concept of equating breastfeeding with sexual attraction. Now while he was quite mesmerized by April’s breasts, in the normal scheme of his sexual proclivities, that was not how he saw them now. They were a means of sustenance for his child. At the risk of an inappropriate comparison, April’s breasts were on par with a cow’s udders – the vessel through which liquid nourishment flowed. Yeah right, tell that to your glands, his inner sexual being once again chimed in. And he shut it down. He was an intellectual man, not a Neanderthal controlled by his physical desires and no conscience. He could do this.

“I’m sure you must be in pain from the surgery and if you open that wound, you’ll be in for a whole lot more hurt. You’re a surgeon, you should know better. Oh Physician, heal thyself.” Arizona’s chastising voice brought him back to his surroundings. He didn’t need to interrupt, he realized. Arizona was on the ball.

“I’m okay. See, we’re handling it just fine. I knew the need to get her settled and feeding as quickly as possible after she arrived and to start her diet off right, with the requisite prescription of colostrum. My first milk helped her pass her first stool, so meconium’s out and hopefully excess bilirubin is history…we want to prevent jaundice, right? So she’s quite successfully managed to latch on and had her first diaper change too.”

April News did not disappoint and since Arizona gave the thumbs-up to the feeding posture, he figured that no dad assistance was required. Just listening to her exacerbated his fatigue. And apparently Arizona’s visit seemed to be more as Jordan’s physician than April’s. Where was Alex, he idly wondered?

Having a baby was hard work, work, work, work, work, work…Rihanna could attest to the work ethic. He smiled to himself at his self-inflicted inner wit. It was too bad that others couldn’t read his mind – he really was quite the joker. If they only knew. Even April, unfortunately, saw him as second to Alex in the humor department. But then come to think of it, he hadn’t had much opportunity in recent times to impress her with his comedic genius. Damn divorce.

Being that he was one half of an uncoupled unit, the clueless one, he needed all the parental guidance he could muster. Boning up on ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ hadn’t quite prepared him for real life, after the expecting. And yes he could confidently state that he’d read the book. Cover to cover. No skimming, no shortcut guides and no swopping out to the straight to movie version. Not to say that he hadn’t watched the film. He had discovered however, that there was a very slim correlation between the two mediums – Hollywood had simply created a family drama focused on the same subject matter and labelled it as an adaptation of the book.

He’d been so thorough with that recommended literary must-have that he’d left no stone unturned...no page unturnt? (Where was Alex now huh? Here he was able to back up his pun-worthiness but without any audience to appreciate his smack talk!) Of particular interest he’d found, in his literary travails through the land of human gestation, was an informative section covering sex and hormonal urges during pregnancy. Those segments were definitely not part of his curriculum, but he couldn’t seem to leave them unread. Yet something else he got to miss out on. Damn divorce.

He had to admit too that he’d ignored the other informative texts in the ‘What to Expect’ range. The immediate after, he’d figured, would mostly be all April. She was a natural earth mother so he knew that breastfeeding was always gonna be on the cards. This meant that, initially and until the baby was no longer nursing from her body, but on formula (something neither of them were keen to have to administer in lieu of breast milk) or even solid foods, thereby allowing the structure of a feeding schedule that wasn’t reliant on April’s availability, Jordan would be with her mother.

If that rare occasion arose where he was solely in charge (perhaps necessitating supplemented formula or if April had pumped milk at the ready – did he mention that he was familiar with that tome? Cover to cover? And yes he could totally see the benefits of April’s farmish upbringing in this context) then he knew that he would be micro-managed from a distance. No items on her ‘To-Do’ Lists would be left uncrossed. Barring all foreseen circumstances, he knew that real life, many a time, threw you curveballs that no book could prepare you for. The key to solving these unique challenges was simply, as Rihanna put it, work. Hands on experience was all that. It was textbook, right? Pun intended.

How do you ensure that your fears, prejudices, learned dislikes don’t inadvertently get transferred to your child, he wondered? I mean farm life and animal husbandry were things he could never relate to, he actually shied away from animals. Seeing them alive and knowing they were destined to end up on his plate, made him all kinds of uncomfortable. If he started thinking of them as having human-like characteristics, he knew he would be toast. He’d have to give up meat and become vegan. But then what about plants also having a voice? He’d read a study that said plants felt pain too but the sounds of agony they emitted were of a decibel indistinguishable to the human auditory canal. He’d have to give up food, man, and subsist on…he had no freaking clue. He wouldn’t last a day. It was best not to even start down that path, he supposed.

Beat though he was, he almost laughed out loud while simultaneously being pseudo offended at the truth bombs April continued dropping in the midst of the follow-up comments he was unknowingly privy to.

“I may be biased but my little Jordan is one smart cookie,” she said to Arizona. “She takes after me in that regard. And honing in on food…that she gets from her father,” her running commentary…well, ran.

So he agreed with one out of the two. Jordan had come by her natural appetite for food quite honestly and yeah that part was all him. Her already seeming limitless appetite for breast milk a pleasing counterpoint to his voracious love of food. I guess his enthusiasm in the pursuit of gastronomical satiation was legendary, so he didn’t begrudge April the comparison. The other, however, he might take slight issue with. He was too a smart cookie. Although, judging from some of his actions…

Damn divorce.

“Jordan, hey? How does Jackson feel about the name?”

He was fine with it, Dr. Robbins, thank you for asking. He mentally inserted his responses as though he were a part of the conversation and not merely a bystander to it.

“We…llll…I haven’t told him yet.”

He could just picture the sheepish expression, possibly accompanied by a lip bite.

“April…what?”

“It’s not like I’ve seen him since he left with Cross to check on a patient. Oh wait, he did return to escort his mother outa here…don’t ask…but I haven’t seen him after. And don’t you go blabbing like before Arizona! I will discuss it with him as soon as I do see him.”

It’s all good, April, I like it. But thank you for considering my input, he thought, slightly sarcastic.

Okay, he understood her motivation after overhearing her reasoning to Ben but I guess he was put out at having no say on something as important as his daughter’s name. He felt like his girls were conspiring against him, sharing secrets which he was excluded from and which seem to have started from the womb. He would have to nip this in the bud. Or at least make sure that he was included in this womb to the tomb posse. He would ride or die for either of them.

“Well I guess you could flash your boobs at him to soften the blow. A double whammy so to speak. Boobs and baby hanging off them. Doubt he would be able to resist.”

“Come on Arizona! You’re asking me to manipulate him, and not only by using my breasts but by perpetuating the cycle of misogyny, feeding into the equation of parts of my body as simply sexual objects! And all this while I’m nursing my daughter! Being that you’re a woman yourself, I must confess, I expected better of you.”

“Whoa there High and Mighty, I was just making a joke. Come off your high horse for a moment and see that. No social indictment on a flyaway comment, please.”

No way, he thought. Arizona had just majorly put her foot in it. April would not take this lying down. She was very capable of floating like a butterfly, stinging like a bee. It was the stinger that one had to look out for. He had a ring-side ‘view’ to what he guessed was going to be a knock-out round. Well more acoustical effect then physical observance. He was expert level status at reading April’s expressions though, so he was quite confident that he could pull off the reverse. Guessing her expressions and the impact of her words simply from the subtle nuances and inflections of her voice. She was nothing if not transparent about her views…about her feelings, she’d become a locked vault. Damn divorce.

“It’s an indiscriminate comment Arizona! Especially in jest, our true views meant to amuse, actually just confuse. Unbeknownst to the joker, her prejudices clearly show up, much more than her punchline.”

“What the blazes are you on about April?! Way to overanalyze a random…”

“Sexualizing the breasts so that they’re simply an appendage to please men? How sexist is that? Since when is the natural phenomenon of feeding your child all about titillation? Men need to keep it in their pants. Everything is not about men. The world does not revolve around how everything affects them…or at least it shouldn’t be. That’s why feminism is so important and the only way to teach this to my daughter is leading by example. I will breastfeed her anywhere and anytime she’s hungry, or on schedule, and anyone who is offended by my boobs can simply lump it.”

Whoa, outa the gate charge…both barrels blazing and all those other western clichés. Arizona was seriously being schooled.

“You are aware that I’m a lesbian right? And a proud feminist! And that I agree about the world not revolving around men, right?” Apparently, Arizona was highly insulted that her rhetoric placed her on par with men. She’d assumed, erroneously it seemed, that her sexual orientation had created the mindset that she was an evolved feminist. “Are you saying that because of that joke, that I’m…what? A sexist misogynist too?” she continued on her own mini-rant.

“Well, you’re perpetuating the stereotype. You know western culture, which is really an oxymoron if you think of it, but anyway this so called culture has overly sexualized every aspect of a woman’s body to the nth degree. So every natural purpose of her body that reflects a biological function other than sexual attractiveness has been connoted as being shameful and cause to be hidden out of sight, out of mind. Like the reclusive, antisocial relative living in the attic who nobody wants to admit exists. Or even the scary one down in the basement. I’m sure you’ve figured out that both those are analogies to what we’ve been discussing. Breastfeeding being one and a woman’s monthly menstrual cycle another. Patriarchy has created a correlation between the first and associated it with sexual fetish whereas the second has been linked as a cause of embarrassment. Do you see now how we’re propagating these sexist tropes ourselves when we buy into the misogyny, allowing ourselves to be the butt of the joke?”

“It was a mild, harmless quip April. I simply meant that you have quite the handful at the moment, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. To not let Jackson get an eyeful…”

“Don’t fall into the trap of mansplaining to me Arizona. It’s never just a funny haha, it’s a farce actually. We need to inculcate honest communication between us and the younger generation, so that our children can start discerning fact from falsehood and with the self-respect they’ll develop they will be able to differentiate between truth and man-created myths. So much so that old-view sexism actually becomes the parody.”

“…and for him to be regretful,” Arizona finished, almost losing her point with April’s long-winded interruption.

“Are you aware that women have been forced to nurse their babies in bathroom stalls? Away from deviant eyes of men who feel offended by the sight of babies having their food organically while they themselves stuff their faces? Why is that, do you suppose?” April continued, driving her argument home.

“Because society has been brainwashed to oversexualize breasts, to believe that their natural function is to give pleasure and that anything else is considered indecent. Yeah, I get it. It’s the craziest thing. That the actual purpose of breasts, suckling a baby to produce life-giving, nutritious food causes discomfort to a misogynistic, porn-warped society. And I get that women can fall into that category of sexist misogyny too,” Arizona replied, finally getting the point. “You’re right April and I apologize for my offensive, unthinking remarks. Women themselves don’t need to contribute to the inequality between the sexes by siding, however misguidedly, with these societally damaging perps. I guess misogyny is not restricted to men, huh? But you know, I love women right? So what’s the opposite of a misogynist?”

“That would make you a philogynist. Maybe a sexist philogynist?”

“But not anymore, right? You totally schooled this philogynist…your doctor…your friend?”

“Well you did fire me as your patient so we could remain friends. Friends who don’t let friends drive drunk.”

“What? I haven’t been drinking and you just had a baby! What are you on about now April?”

“It was a metaphor Arizona. Even though you fired me as your patient you haven’t been able to disengage. You’ve been looking out for me…for us, all along haven’t you? You’ve been my designated driver and I just…thank you for being there and for stitching me up. While I can’t see the cut for myself I know Ben’s handiwork was not about aesthetic. Although…poor Ben. He really tried. And I didn’t give him much of a choice. And at least this time he went with a horizontal incision, whereas a vertical under those circumstances would have just created more room for error. But I know you. You prettied everything, right? And made sure that all my internal organs are where they’re supposed to be? And that I still have a functional uterus and ovaries? I know you’re a perfectionist and I trust you. Those jello moms never had any complaints.”

While he was confused by that last part of the statement, he was even more bamboozled at the joint laughter that filled the room after Arizona answered in the affirmative to each and every post-op question April threw at her. What was so funny about having attractive, correctly situated internal organs, he wondered? And what the freaking hell were jello moms?

They were so comfortable with each other. He wondered, since Arizona was a lesbian and April such a good friend to her...was Arizona trying to steal his woman?! Wait, that thought had such a multitude of wrongness to it. Chalk it down to tiredness. Perhaps he should just revisit the jello question, coz dammit now his curiosity was piqued!

“You continuously surprise me, you know that. I should be used to the way you insert hyperbole into your speech. Frustrating sometimes, but it’s endearing actually,” Arizona laughingly continued.

Wait, what? Go back, go back, he felt like screaming at them. WHAT ABOUT JELLO MOMS?! What if it was some code word, some extra edge they had in taking care of a newborn? If he didn’t find out…he had a strong suspicion that he was losing out on some magical secret potion that mothers kept to give themselves a leg-up in the parental race. They already had one with the food boobs and from what he’d read a baby could sense and smell the boob food. So, geez, help a dad out here. Maybe google could render some aid…?

Although, ever since Google Maps had replaced Palestine on their maps with the name of the genocidal, illegal occupier ‘israel’ thereby flouting international law and providing legitimacy to racist, war-mongering oppressors and child killers, he’d divested himself from everything Google and Google-related. Google had chosen its stance and made itself complicit in the ‘israeli’ government’s ethnic cleansing of Palestine. For himself he refused to even acknowledge the name of this thieving, murdering, appropriated country. How, he wondered, in these times was it possible that an occupied and oppressed country could not secure its own independence and freedom from these apartheid aggressors, who were in turn supported by his very own country? It pained and embarrassed him that the US was complicit in these atrocities, to the tune of funding the persecutors. Thriving racism of a different colour, justifying its privilege by means of the violent occupier framing itself as the victim.

Back to the regular broadcast though…

“You surprise me too with your acceptance. I know I’m a real person to you. I mean you proved that when you got angry with me when I was out of line. You didn’t tiptoe around me and neither do you quote religious scripture to me. Given my sexual orientation, it’s hard for me to simply be friends with a woman without all the societal expectations from them. So, I value you too. Tremendously. You have no idea what a rare breed you are. And what a catch. Jackson is an idiot.”

Well, I never, he thought. Arizona was not pulling her punches about his lack of intelligence. But she was right, absolutely, about everything that April was. But wait a minute, when was Arizona out of line? The thought he’d had earlier, that he’d pushed to the back of his mind, once again reared its ugly head. Did Arizona hit on his wife…I mean his ex-wife?!

“Why wouldn’t you be a real person? And I know you’ve had bad experiences with religious zealots…I’m sorry that you went through that. All believers are not like that though. My religion actually espouses tolerance so wouldn’t I be a total hypocrite by denying you, or anyone, their right to self-determination?

And, by the way, I forgive you for telling Jackson about the pregnancy. I know your heart was in the right place, just your method was flawed,” April responded to Arizona.

He could hear the smile in her voice at the last. It also cleared up for him which situation Arizona referred to in the ‘out of line’ category. And it was nothing untoward or lesbianic. So he was cool with her. He realised that his own prejudices were leaking through, but he was trying. Unfortunately, April’s inherent fairness and enlightenment were not qualities that could be imbued into another person simply through proximity, but yes it was something he could learn from her. So he dialled in once again to her conversation.

“It’s sad isn’t it? That because of your sexual orientation, which should be your personal business really, that hetro-normative society…people…immediately want to stamp a label onto our relationship? A label that fits into their narrow-minded views. And conversely, but equally sad, that a friendship between two women, one who happens to be gay, is viewed as impossible, unattainable. Political correctness has tarnished the innocence of a true friendship between members of the same sex to the degree that people judge from extreme viewpoints. Either a closeted lesbian couple or the other extreme, someone with a hidden bias towards homosexuals. Why can’t you just be my friend, huh? With no hidden agenda?”

Luckily for him April had long since given up on worrying about what people thought of her. Add to that her unhesitatingly offered hand of friendship. She epitomised fairness in that regard. That is, she never discriminated against anyone based on colour, creed, sex or sexual orientation. All things he should have remembered about her.

Well didn’t he just feel like a complete A-hole. He was lucky that the women didn’t know he was eavesdropping and even luckier still that the one who could read him so well, didn’t anymore. Effing hell! How was that a good thing? Damn divorce.

He never knew that women routinely had such off the cuff intelligent discourse. And he wasn’t a patriarchal, chauvinistic, anti-feminist, sexist misogynist – he had a woman friend. Okay, so maybe he needed to work on his own slight sexism. While he admired April’s feminist stance (he liked to think that he was one too, a feminist that is) and while he absolutely agreed with teaching his daughter to be a strong, take charge and no shit from men feminist, an unjudgemental, unbiased person of character, he was conflicted about the public breastfeeding. While he was an enlightened fellow (to some degree), he didn’t like the idea of other men ogling April’s breasts.

A part of it was territorial, but mainly he worried at the mindsets of some men, the misogynistic Trumps of this world. Women were simply an added appendage to them and the main and only purpose of this accessory was submission to their depravity. These men only framed the wrongness of something done to women, like rape for example, as it affected them; having mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. The moral imperative and physical wrongness of their actions were not even blips on their radar. It’s why a convicted rapist could get away without true accountability for his crime and only face a 6-month jail term and why a rapist could get away with his crime of rape as he’d had previous consensual intercourse with the woman.

These type of men showed no remorse and consent was an alien concept to them. Women were simply there for their use, they were not individuals in their own right. So taking what they wanted was simply the normality of their lives. Society had much to answer for. He promised himself to do better for women and not simply because he was father to a girl child. It was the right thing to do. It was the respect he would have taught Samuel to have for women and what he hoped to teach Jordan to have for herself. And of course the very important lesson of power and respect for the word NO. Consent was key.

It pained him though that because of a morally lax culture he would have to educate his child in the teachings of self-defense too. For her protection. Not only to circumvent attacks from predators (the majority of which happen to be male and privileged), but also from the mindsets of mass society. Where a female could eschew responsibility from her son and not hold him answerable for attacking an unconscious woman. Where this vile attack is seen ‘as 20 minutes of action’ for the guy and the effect on the woman not even considered. Where a remorseless perpetrator could get off on a technicality, drive his female victim to suicide and paint himself as the victim instead. His defense? Claiming racial bias and being railroaded by a public that has given white men a pass, so why not him? The true victim of his heinous actions, as usual, not even given the respect of consideration. And where women were taught to defend themselves but men not educated to not rape. This Trumpeske view is the world that he and April would need to bring up their daughter in. If he were a believing man, he would be supplicating to a deity to help them both.

His mind travelled on the dollar paved road to the land of politics and by his unwitting Trump comparison, it became incumbent upon him to follow the thought pattern to where it culminated, with the other contender. It’s not that he considered Hillary Clinton a shining beacon of feminism deserving of respect. Her lying, stealing and murderous collusions simply made her an equal opportunity perpetrator – a predator of a different sort who was not an intersectional feminist but played the part when it behoved political expediency and who was simply there for herself.

She was there for herself and the cronies who lined her pockets with ill gotten gains. It was an unhappy state of affairs to say the least. That even if she was beneficial to America, her views and previous examples of her actions ensured that those in other countries (brown people essentially), she was prepared to obliterate. Her collateral damage. Acceptable as it perpetuated the myth of protection from ‘terrorists’ while her aim was essentially boot-licking and ass-kissing elitist America. Her platform of being the lesser evil was a downright depressing indictment of humanity and it pained him yet again that this was the calibre of leadership that the country held up to his daughter to emulate.

It really wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that the creation of Trump was simply a ploy to make Hillary the palatable choice. Members of both camps decried this as a conspiracy theory, but the method of creating these terms became a media manipulation tool, employed to discredit truth seekers and paint them as nut jobs. And if these tricks didn’t work, ‘fair Hillary’ always had voter suppression, rigging and fraud to fall back on. It was a card that the Bush’s had famously played, with no culpability and which Hillary had imitated already in her drive to obtain the Democratic nomination.

Once again, if he were a believer he would be thanking April’s God for her. She was their daughter’s hope, a beacon of morality and an example. Even at Grey Sloan, the feminist doctors he worked with were with Hillary – simply because she was female. Now was that any kind of a conscientized vote? How would a country whose elected official, the lesser of two evils, hold any moral high ground to not only the rest of the world but to its own citizens? It seemed this mentality would set feminism back instead of promoting the equality women desired. Well, not in one respect. Becoming President of the USA meant that Hillary would be an equally opportunistic, morally bankrupt example. Yay to feminism. April’s God help them all.

While many were falling for these hidden agendas and blatant power plays, some Americans were waking up to the truth. Why in the most recent animated box office release, these very topics were spotlighted. Yes, he’d watched Zootopia. He figured he had to start somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any. What he did not expect was that societal issues incorporating the 2016 American Presidential Election would reverberate so fiercely in what, essentially, was a children’s movie.

Innocent looking Sheepish Mayor Dawn Bellwether (and no, that was not really a characteristic, she was an actual sheep – well ewe if he were to be gender specific and non-PC) villainously conspired against a whole segment of the population, while working behind the scenes to obtain power, and with blood on her hands, railroading the guiltless. All this while hiding behind a façade of niceness and equitable fairness. What a load of bull crap…or buffalo crap if he were to tie in to the film – Idris Elba played the police chief to a T. His favourite though was Flash, the hundred yard dash, Sloth. Disney had gone tongue-in-cheek ironic on the names, true? But anyway, he digressed. Was this plot not a familiar one? And the hidden main antagonist? Now who did she remind him of? Wasn’t she a dead ringer for a certain political candidate? And good triumphing over evil…would that only ever be the result in Disney-Pixar Land?

He interrupted his interrupted bulletin of thoughts and returned to normal programming…

“He was worried about you, you know? And hearing you tell Ben to save the baby if it came to a choice...I think you really scared him April.”

Arizona was exactly right. He had been scared shitless. He was not ready at all for April to be out of his life, he never would be. And he definitely was not prepared for how the near reality of losing her forever made him feel. It was a harsh wake-up call.

“Losing a child again…this was exactly what I didn’t want to happen, what I didn’t want him to have to go through. When I realised how Samuel’s death affected him and how he hid that from me…I guess I wanted to protect him too. At first, I was trying to think of a way to break the pregnancy news to him gently to avoid dredging up this very scenario, him being helpless and unable to save his own child. Having no control. It would have devastated him for it to happen a second time.”

How did they end up at this place, he wondered? They were tiptoeing around each other, walking on eggshells. Both trying to protect one another. He admitted that initially he’d been in denial, running from this huge mistake he’d made (Damn Divorce) and his continued feelings for April, but today had opened his eyes big time. He realized how much at fault he’d been, to the extent where he couldn’t presume anymore to even touch her. He was being respectful of her body and ultimately her choice. Considering that their relationship from their early friendship days had been a tactile one, being unable and not permitted to touch her even casually, had become torturous. This time they weren’t able to bicker about baby names or be there for each other during the worry, aches and pains. So he’d respected her decree and her personal space. After all, he’d asked for the damn divorce and as she’d said, he wasn’t her husband anymore.

“Again, I’m so sorry I spilled the news. It wasn’t my place. It’s just…after your last pregnancy, I was thinking of you going through this one all alone, when you didn’t have to be, when you were carrying the burden of worry on yourself. And all the while you were protecting him.”

“It’s why I understood his anger with me and why he wanted an abortion when he first found out. Although, I never saw him quite as angry as he was then, to the point where he was prepared to reject the baby too. I think he probably felt trapped. There he was, free of me, free of drama, enjoying being single and dating and I messed his life up. Again. What I was trying not to do, but as usual I screwed that up as well.”

No, No, No…that was not it at all, April! He’d run from feelings he’d buried so deep that lukewarm or no emotion was all he was capable of displaying, post divorce. It was okay, as long as he had control. His big fear then had been the loss of control and the propensity for pain that being vulnerable to hurt or relying on another person for his happiness brought. He’d been in extreme denial. Once he found out about the baby, from someone other than April, the stopper damming his emotions had uncorked, erupting and spewing verbal bile. This last ditch attempt to keep those feelings stomped down had ironically emitted as the opposite of the emotions he felt. Anger and hate were easy to show but fear and love he’d become an expert at hiding.

“No, April, he was worried about you...both of you. He begged Ben to save you both. Didn’t you hear the anguish in his voice when he said that? And when you screamed, he looked tormented. But it was when you went quiet that he almost broke down…the possibility of losing you this way, I don’t think even occurred to him.”

“He’s not a monster, Arizona. Of course he was worried. But I stopped deluding myself a long time ago. My priority is my baby and I love her without limits. The same as I love Samuel. I would do anything for them and if it meant that my life was forfeit, I was and I am prepared to give that up too. If it’s ever a choice between my life and my child’s, you know which I’ll choose. I mean you get it. You’re a mother too.”

“Yeah I get it. I would do anything to ensure Sofia’s happiness. Once you’re a parent every other relationship pales in comparison to what you feel for that child. I guess it’s true when your mother says ‘Wait until you have your own.’ But that doesn’t mean that Jackson…”

“I know Arizona, he was worried for the baby and after what we went through with Samuel, he was afraid to hope. But I trust him and I entrusted Jordan to him if anything happened to me. I knew he would love and provide for her. I trust him. And I’m at peace with that decision.”

He sat there openmouthed, listening in to a surprising defense of his actions by one Dr. Arizona Robbins. This confused him. For while he’d considered (which thought process required re-evaluation) The Bailey-Warrens his by default in the category of custodial friends, there was no question that Arizona was all April’s. To hear a defense of him, from her, was quite the conundrum, enough to boggle the mind.

Reflecting on Arizona’s words, his thoughts took him back to earlier, just after April had been wheeled into surgery. He’d went from a perfectly normal work day to sitting with his daughter in his arms, knowing it could be a very real possibility that Bailey could exit through those doors with bad news, telling him that the baby girl he’d been handed, he had to raise all by himself. He’d sat there with the knowledge that his daughter could very well not ever know her mother, who loved her so ferociously that she literally let a surgical intern cut her open with a kitchen knife, all to save the life of her child. He knew that April never got to hold their little one and probably never even knew it was a girl before blacking out. He knew then that if she had died, that was it. There would be no goodbye, she never would have left him any instructions on how to raise their daughter, and she would be gone from their lives just like that.

It was gut-wrenching. His mind operated just enough to make two things crystal clear to him. One, that he had already, instantly, fallen in love with that baby girl. She was his priority after April was in good hands. He never let go of her and he didn’t let the nursery at the hospital keep her. He wasn’t letting that baby out of his sight. The second was that he would never be able to have April out of his life. Just the thought of her dying was enough to destroy him. He was not prepared for the annihilation this caused to the walls he’d built up after the decimation of their marriage. He felt everything now and it came at him like a Tsunami. Damn Divorce.

“You know I got a lift to the church with Owen, so my car’s in the lot outside. Key’s in my purse. And my hospital to-go bag is in the boot. Please will you get it for me Arizona? I’d like to put Jordan in her own clothes.”

“Of course, you’d have your bag ready,” Arizona laughed. “How long have you had it packed?”

“Only when I started my third trimester. I wasn’t going to be influenced by negativity. But of course all Jordan’s onesies and blankets are gender neutral. And so is the nursery. No conforming to any gender norms for my little nugget,” April cooed, obviously including Jordan in the conversation.

He leaned back in his chair. When had he moved to the literal edge of his seat, he pondered? Probably early on when the conversation was hot. Anyway, as he heard Arizona say her goodbyes, promising to bring up April’s pre-packed hospital bag (which he should be doing…damn divorce), he simply exhaled the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and rested his head against the back of the chair. He crossed his legs at the ankles and used his right hand and forearm to cover his eyes, for all intents and purposes replicating a sleeping pose.

He heard Arizona stop next to what appeared to be his place of rest and he could sense her uncertainty as to the veracity of what her eyes foretold versus what he guessed her thoughts supposed. He imagined that her mind probably circled the question of whether he really was asleep or if she herself was once again complicit (this time unknowingly) in betraying a confidence? She loitered there for barely a few moments before he heard her footsteps receding. She’d obviously given him the benefit of the doubt or she likely decided that even if he’d overheard her exchange with April, the result was no harm no foul.

Since he had to be sure that the sound of Arizona’s retreating footsteps were in fact that and not some fake-out to catch him red-handed in the act of eavesdropping, he once again missed his window. Interspersed with some groans of pain, probably as she changed position, he could clearly decipher the cooing sounds April made to Jordan. It was something he’d picked up that women, and yes some men, did when encountering a fluffy bundle of baby. He wouldn’t be capitulating to that patronising behaviour. He would respect Jordan enough to have a non-condescending conversation with her. No goo-goo gaa-gaa baby talk. Even though she had those adorable, dimpled cheeks. And those big eyes. Surrounded by the longest eye-lashes. And the cutest little baby face. Oh man, who was he kidding? He was toast. Let the oohing and aahing commence! He would be first in line. For the moment though, she was steeped in serious bonding time with mommy. He could wait.

“Hello there my darling. We missed our regularly scheduled conversation today…so did you miss me? I hear you had daddy for company, what did you think of him? I know you recognized his voice when you were still in my belly, so how was that first meeting? I have a feeling that you’ve wrapped him around these tiny fingers of yours, isn’t that so?”

Of course, she was right. He’d heard her mention it earlier while speaking to Ben, but because of the information overload it had slipped his mind. But hearing it again now and recalling the previous time he’d heard her say it, lit a warm fuzzy glow through his system. His little girl knew him from the womb!

He was surprised, pleasantly so, as he’d felt her kick but only once. Respecting April’s boundaries, he hadn’t encroached on her personal space. And yet through it all his daughter knew him. He did wonder if perhaps it was April’s emotions she’d sensed? He knew he was late to the race and apparently she’d had many conversations with April already, so he was behind. Well, whatever the reason for this good fortune, he grabbed it with both hands.

“It’s so wonderful to see you face to face. How was your trip? You know you scared mommy right? I thought we discussed this young lady, no scaring me like that! You really didn’t want me to be Uncle Owen’s best man hey,” he heard the tinkle of her laughter as she and Jordan conversed. Only April, he smiled, would enquire about her trip. Manners and etiquette bred into the DNA.

“It’s okay, though. I’m very, very happy to have you here, in my arms, healthy and well. I guess you felt the lead-up to the Hunt/Sheppard wedding right? It was a crazy day – I didn’t even get a chance to paint my toe-nails. Although, I doubt I could’ve reached them. So that was okay, but looks like you wanted to attend your first wedding in person, my little Jordan Kepner-Avery. My JKA…Hmm, I wonder…do you suppose we should rethink the order of your double-barreled surname? Do we want to be the acronym for ‘Just Kidding Around’ huh? And anyway if we switch it around then you’ll be JA – just like your dad. Except…JKA sounds better than JAK don’t you think? Well it is your name, so what do you say? Happy with mom’s choice huh? JKA it is. Let’s just keep this waffling and the acronym between you and me, okay sweetheart?”

Well he had to admit, this was the most interesting (and entertaining) conversation yet, that he’d overheard today. Mother and baby were conspiring against him…and it was the most adorable thing ever. He was enchanted. And after everything that April had been through to bring her into this world…Jordan could wear the Kepner moniker as a badge of honor. He was freaking proud of the Kepner strength and the name.

“Speaking of waffles…you do realize that yesterday was the last waffle-run you had your mother going on, right kiddo? You gave me the weirdest cravings, Jordan, aside from the waffle-love that you surely inherited from the Averys. Dang it, now I feel like calling you JAK…JKA sounds like an unintelligible Star Wars nom-de-plume. We’ll really have to seriously think about your full name. Maybe discuss it with your father…”

He smiled. April conversations were the best to listen to, when she was not running circles around you. Being who she was, he knew that April would resolve the baby name equation herself. She hated asking for help but she was open to others weighing in their opinions before she made up her mind. So they would just have to see how this played out.

“So, as I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself, I hope that all those cravings were satisfied. I don’t have those anymore and all you’re going to be getting for possibly the next six months, is non-flavored milk. But I see that you love your food. Just like your dad. My little J…Okay, gimme a break, I’m trying all these out to see which ones work.”

As he was saying…

April was so damn independent. Not once had she asked him to get her anything she, or baby, craved. But then, they were freaking uncoupled, co-parents. Damn divorce.

“You’re such a lucky girl, Jordan. You’re surrounded by love, you know. And because your dad and I aren’t married, just think, you’ll have two of everything. I’ll have to temper everything though, because your father, he’s a bit of a spendthrift, and I know he’s going to buy you whatever your little heart desires. But, sorry girlfriend, your mom has to make sure that you learn the value of money and have a good work ethic.”

Since everything was so pointed, he wondered if April was aware of his presence. In-between her statements, he heard tiny groans of pain emitting unbidden from her, so perhaps he considered it was time to interrupt so that she could get some rest. The conversation did seem to be winding down though…

“Well maybe not two of everything. I’m sure Jackson will re-marry, so you’ll have a step-mother – not two mothers okay? I don’t think my heart could take being rejected by you in favor of another mother. And for myself, I guess I don’t see myself re-marrying…unless Idris Elba swoops into the hospital and whisks Dr. Bailey away, leaving Ben single and free and well he has seen my vagina…You understand, although it’s Idris Elba and any woman (including me) would give it up for him, no one else would stand a chance with Bailey in the running.”

What the effing hell April?! Where was this coming from?! Now he had Ben to worry about! And he would not be giving Jordan another mother, step or otherwise…what the hell? How did this conversation get so screwed up? Damn, Damn, Damn Divorce!

“How long do you think your dad’s gonna sit out there, huh Jordan? We’re really beat, right? Let’s just go to sleep…”

He groaned out loud, a counterpoint to the soft groan he heard from behind the curtain as April and Jordan settled. He’d been masterfully played.

He smiled to himself as he prepared to stand-up in a bid to go forth and check on his family, when a bright red stain caught his eye. Underneath April’s hospital bed. It looked like a puddle of blood dripping from the cot. He leapt up and violently pulled the curtain aside, receiving no reaction from April. She looked paler than her normally pale complexion, which he didn’t think was possible. And she was unresponsive. The next moments all passed in a blur – his screaming for help, the code, someone handing him a wailing Jordan, the cacophony of hospital personnel in the room and finally him standing in the passage with a crying baby watching while they wheeled April away to emergency surgery…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shout out to everyone reading and following this fic, thank you for sticking with it. The original idea, as you may be aware, was a one-shot. However, Jackson had much to learn and to share, so this story morphed into a multi-chapter. Regardless of OS or short-chapter *snort* story, the plan was to leave it open-ended and up to the readers imagination regarding April’s fate. Writing is fluid though and open to change. Consequently, I’ve been convinced to round-off this baby with the addition of another chapter. But, you know me… so perhaps an unexpected twist?  
> Would love some feedback or even just general views on the overall project. Much appreciation, once again, for the interest. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Yes, Shonda Rhimes, these are your characters and your Grey’s Anatomy. Thank you for the temporary loan ;-)

Who was the brunette? She looked new.

Not brand spanking new as in just birthed, arrived on the planet or outta the box original, but new as in the obvious non-acquaintanceship with him new. And yes, the tiny world of Grey Sloan Memorial DID revolve around him. He was its sun or perhaps more appropriately, its son. A small matter between the two vowels O and U. His own version gallows humor, he supposed. Ridding himself of the noose around his neck that was entitled classism by means of tongue in cheek self-deprecation.

Inasmuch as he’d grown, both cerebrally and with eye-catching physicality, since transferring residency programs from defunct Mercy West to the then-named Seattle Grace Hospital, enough that he was grudgingly accepting of either descriptor, the indicator was that his narcissistic tendencies hadn’t waned with the passage of time. If anything the choice of his specialty presupposed a perfectionist mentality and hence the accumulation towards an already existing surplus account in the arrogance column.

Not that he was checking the recent addition out, but the posterior view that he had was quite arresting. Smirking juvenilely to himself he reflected on the oddly classical sounding word, perhaps even old-school British Uppercrust or lo and behold, modern-day Shakespearean? Posterior. Rolled right off the tongue.

When had he become so politically correct, he wondered, that even his internal monologues automatically sourced more PC less colloquially savvy terms? He suspected though that these mind games of his were his own inner facetiousness at play. I mean come on. Posterior literally described both the angle of his sight (the rear, in case it wasn’t clear) as well as the object of his observation.

Not forgetting too that his vision at present encompassed a non-objectifying exterior, or so he placated himself. Since no interior decoration was on display, he counted on the professional knowledge of anatomy that he’d gleaned over time, as a measure. This meant that his mind’s eye could immediately detect a fine gluteus maximus. No fat trimming, augmentation or implantation apparent, or for that matter, required. It was quite the handful of perky buttocks.

Which now piqued his curiosity to wonder if a similar buoyancy existed elsewhere? Possibly a cheeky accompaniment to the pertness that inspired artistic expression? A veritable landscape of valleys and peaks? Certainly a more lateral view, north of the border. Even though it had been awhile, he wasn’t being a perverted stalker or even a horny douchebag. It was simple inquisitiveness. An observational imperative that required objective analyses.

Now where was the fun in simply admitting to being an Ass Guy? Although, saying that out loud could make him the brunt of puns of a homosexual nature. While he was absolutely confident in his masculinity and his attraction to women (and only women), the culture and times of prevalent homophobia meant that this wasn’t a subject open to amusing quips. Aside from it being the opposite of politically expedient speak (more like political incoherence), it was also individually insensitive and highly prejudicial. Not to mention it called him out on his objectification of the human form.

So he would only admit to himself, during his Neanderthal moments, that he was a boob and butt connoisseur of the female persuasion. Although, considering his profession wouldn’t this quality be an advantageous prerequisite for the job? Granted, the phrase itself seemed paradoxical. Could something be both an added benefit while simultaneously a requirement?

Geez, his inner Grammar Nazi (or as he’d come to call it, his channeling of Aprilness) was causing him brain freeze and since he’d not ingested any icy beverages or frozen confections speedily, perhaps it was a brain aneurysm? Memo to self, MRI with Dr. Shepherd. Regardless of this seeming contravention of grammar law, the additional knowledge of being a breast and rump aficionado was definitely not a hindrance right? Memo recall, enough with the sarcastic overkill Dr. Avery! Being an analytical thinker, not prone to spontaneity (if you disregarded the impulse of stealing a bride from her own wedding…and look how well that turned out) this meant that rearview shock exceeded the scope of his experiences.

His appreciation of a woman’s derrière though, was simply an appealing aesthetic. Unlike the norm however, his predilections regarding booty were the opposite of big butts. He liked firm cheeks and he could not lie. And well she had an itty bitty waist too. She epitomized his altered preferences to a T. He’d even go so far as to say a double T. If he didn’t know better he would assume it was her. She, who shall not be named. There was just something about her…and why was she dressed in attending’s scrubs?

Getting paged for an emergency not long after entering the hospital, immediately after his daycare layover, was not how he planned to start his day. Much as he wanted to, he’d have to stop by to see her afterward. And no, he wasn’t referring to the mysteriously bodacious bootylicious. That he would definitely get to later. Not to tap that arse of course, but to satiate a desire of a different sort. Simple curiosity. An uncomplicated nosiness. Since his reasoning was altruistic, this called for British class instead of American crass. So he went with arse instead of ass.

The motto of curiosity killing the cat was conversely apropos in the context of the livelihood and professional viability of a bunch of meddlesome hospital staff. Something he’d learned early on into his career, was to keep his ear to the ground and his cards close to his chest. So being the bearer of the newest, hottest chatter, or scandalous scuttlebutt, was a sure-fire advantage in the hierarchy of surgical preferences. This rated as an added value in his book. Yet equally, morally objectionable. It was hypocritical, but he conceded to gossip being beneficial…that is, if he wasn’t directly the subject of it. In a personal capacity, of course. But this was business. Harper Avery business to be precise, and he did represent the majority shareholding of the hospital. So in essence, hiring, firing and new personnel all fell within his purview.

Approaching daycare, his go-to Nirvana, after attending to the emergency but before getting into the meat of his elective surgeries, he spotted her once more. Again, a rear view. And baby had back. Slight. A handful…two handfuls. Both rotoundly delicious. He had to admit though, that he hated to see her go, but he loved to watch her leave. Damn, that was a damn fine ass! And damn if this silent objectification didn’t have him castigating himself with an inaudible braying of the other type of ass. Which animalistic comparison he conceded to behaving as. The similitude was fitting. He was an ass.

He felt the immediate sting of a phantom back of the head whack, April style. She’d done it once before. Way back when. Back then they’d all lived together at Meredith Grey’s infantilely-named ‘Frat House’ and he’d been caught ogling the behind of Alex’s one-night stand. True, he’d been unencumbered then, but his behavior had been assholish. Over time April had somehow conditioned him to feel the effects of that roundhouse smack whenever he reverted to sexist form. Even if it was an imaginary, all in his head reminder.

Deferring to conditioning, sans actual actionable movement, he continued on his way. But the rebel in him chanced a quick backward glance. The hue and style of her hair reflected a blackness so deep as to almost be blue. An appraisal that irked him beyond words.

With the recent rash of state sanctioned slaughter of his people, his stance was firmly #fuck12. Innocent Black individuals, including children as young as 7 years old, were being killed. Murdered indiscriminately with no compunction, and with no accountability for the perpetrators of these heinous crimes, the good ol boys in blue. And girls too. Gender was no deterrent to collusion.

Add derisive tone and hefty dose of sarcasm at the ambiguity of positive sounding definitions for these conceited, moral compassless coppers. Even pig was a fitting depiction for them…or maybe not as he had no beef with pigs. Well those of the four-legged variety, he didn’t. So the comparison was actually an insult to that fine animal. He had to grin to himself. Pun anyone? Beef…Pigs? No? Okay, moving on.

It was ironic really, considering that enforcement of the law entailed at its core, protection. Protection of the very same people being brutally extinguished by the bluecoats. The Thin Blue Line had mutated in meaning from police being the barrier between civilized society and anarchy to police actually causing the chaos. In addition to the original criminality this was by means and permission of corrupt hierarchy protecting pensions and the blue brotherhood complicit in resultant cover-ups. Thus, he disregarded and equally disrespected any positive analogy to police blue. The color had been tainted.

Rather, he thought, Vantablack: the new-look blacker than black. Vantablack supplanting orange as the new black. In part probably because of its association to the human equivalent of The Annoying Orange, Trump. Donald Duck and his first mate Mickey Pence. Amerikkkan made toons running the country in clown fashion. Whatever the reason though, the new black was definitely a more viable and apt similitude. In addition to the glossy veneer of her hair, which produced a sheen that was almost wig-like in its perfection, was a straightness that he knew would never be in the closet. And the shortness of her stature brought to mind pixies, and fairies of the non-gay effeminate variety.

Outside of his vision, he speculated on whether her features mirrored a fair-skinned, dark-eyed, roundness. A combination of all these – sleekness in both physique and crowning glory – could lead one to assume an Asian aesthetic. Something that he would not find amiss. On the contrary, the fantasy was quite appealing. Not that he fetishized the Asian look. If there was anything that experience had fashioned into a fixation for him regarding the feminine ideal, it would be luscious, flame-haired locks.

Prior knowledge regarding circumstances and hair color notwithstanding, but simply judging from his preferences, her silhouette would alert him to the very real probability of this woman being April. But that was impossible. Counter-intuitive. Right?

Mired in reflection as he was, he spun on his heel. A one eighty degree rotation coupled with an out of body experience. Swift as the movement was, it wasn’t a causal lightheadedness. In fact, he seemed to be a Hitchhiking spectator through The Twilight Zone, or something equally melodramatic. Perhaps a transitory hiccup? Maybe even pausing on the Fringe of an alternate universe? Or plugged into The Matrix? It was all very preternaturally exaggerated. Like a movie on steroids. A Sci-Fi Thriller perchance, or mayhap something Supernatural? Who knew and who, he marveled, was controlling with awe and mystery the reach from the inner mind to this Outer Limits transmission? Could be a Dr. Who presumption or a Quantum Leap. Maybe a Mulder and Scully investigation of an X-File broadcast. Was it emanating from a galaxy far, far away, a Haven of sorts? Or was ET simply phoning it in? One thing he knew; he was Lost.

As the footsteps of the woman he’d been silently appreciating retreated, but with her still in his line of sight, her presence looked to transform into an otherworldly character. Admittedly it was a hazy view but out of the darkened hallway (electrical load shedding?) emerged an African American Warrior of equal stature and fire in her eyes. Perhaps she was short, as her size seemed to increase the closer she got to him. What was the saying about objects further away being taller than they appear? He almost shrieked in fright at the seeming apparition. Then she opened her mouth to speak. Fear of a different sort.

“What are you doing loitering around here Avery? Don’t you have any consults or patients to operate on? No lifts or tucks? Do I need to find something for you to do?”

“Err, no Dr. Bailey. I had a break and decided to visit with Jordan.”

“Umm hmm,” she responded with her usual sceptical expression, causing him to rush in with a bungled explanation and some defensiveness. Apparently panic had eroded any self-preservation he possessed.

“Anyway my surgery’s been pushed to after lunch. Wanna know why I had to push it? Because my intern is missing in action. Not only mine, all the interns seem to have disappeared? Ben is scheduled to scrub in with me but I haven’t seen hide or hair of him this morning. You know anything about that?”

Uh-oh that didn’t seem to be the best analogy to go with. Strangely, Bailey let that pass. All he got for his efforts was one lifted eyebrow. For the rest of it tho, she let him have it.

“Why are you asking me, Avery? Keep track of your own student.”

While this was par for the course in a Bailey conversation, his suspicions were stirred. It took him a quick Sherlock moment to put his finger on it.

Since her promotion to Chief of Surgery, Dr. Bailey was interested in everything. Although, truth be told he suspected that she had always been inquisitive regarding other people’s personal business. She managed, quite circumspectly, to poke her nosy nose wherever good gossip abounded. Personally, he was not a fan of rumor mongering, having been on the receiving end of it. Damn Divorce. And of course not forgetting the tale of The Runaway Bride.

His philosophy was that there was no such thing as good gossip. The phrase itself was an oxymoron. Be that as it may, a requirement of Dr. Bailey’s new function was to keep tabs and know it all – particularly the movement of intern staff and especially concerning Ben. Aside from the obvious, her other reasons appeared manifold. Nevertheless, a surprising non-consideration was the simple fact that he was her husband. Ben was. Not him. Ben. Her spouse. Anesthesiologist and Surgical Intern Ben Warren. Ben. Bailey’s husband, Ben.

She very clearly did not want to be seen as dispensing preferential treatment and neither did she want to be lenient. Her non-bias had been clear when she’d instituted his suspension but her watchful eye was ever present since his re-instatement. In case of relapse and not because of who he was to her. Again Ben, not him. Which meant her words did not mesh with her normal chiefly actions. Simple deduction, dear Watson.

Trying to interject some humor into their interaction while simultaneously figuring out the conundrum he stared her down with a Bugs Bunny impersonation.

“Sooo, what’s up Doc?”

With an unimpressed expression, Miranda Bailey crossed her arms and wordlessly commenced the face-off. He was toast and he knew it, burnt toast. No one put Baby in a corner. No, no, no, not Baby! Bailey! It was Bailey. He hurried to correct himself. For if anyone’s Superpower was Telepathy, it was Bailey’s. She knew everything. So of course, no one put Bailey in a corner.

What the friggin hell, he wondered? She had his own mind turning against him. Why was Dirty Dancing playing on a loop in his head? And how was there a fight/dance sequence with him and Bailey superimposing the show’s leads? Bailey Bouncing…The Movie? Perhaps her Superpower was Telekinesis? She certainly had the ability to bend his mind.

He figured that even without extra sensory abilities, Dr. Bailey detected weakness, like blood in the water. And just when he thought it was safe to go back in… duunnn dunnn... duuuunnnn duun... duuunnnnnnnn dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn dunnnn… tuba music resounded in his brain. Sharp-toothed denizen of the GSM Ocean. His doom awaited.

It was quite the turnabout. He became minnow to her shark. David to her Goliath. Opposing force, immovable object. Establishment versus the individual. Ohhkaay…maybe too far with that last one. Anyway the picture he painted was of the little man overcoming the odds of standing up to the big bully. Except in this scenario the physical manifestations were opposite. And of course Bailey was not really a bully…right? She was The Nazi, tiny but opinionated. Although fitting in a humorous context, he figured it was time to retire the nickname. These were times of real-life Nazis, and in Amerikkka no less. So the epithet was kinda inappropriate.

Strong women always got a bad rep, he supposed, especially if they were Black. Cracking the glass ceiling of sexism only extended to the Meryl Streep type of women. Which is to say, white. And Elitist. Black Women were so disrespected by their white counterparts. A recent example was the Amy Schumer/Goldie Hawn collaboration. This duo of no talent hacks made a lip-synch parody of the Beyoncé track “Formation,” from her Lemonade album. Knowing everything that the album and artist stood for, the spoof was not only racist but in poor taste. White feminism still yacking it up over slavery and excusing their bad behavior by claiming artistic license and comedic genius. Creating a joke out of Black suffering. Nevertheless, he was not giving any credence to the Angry Black Woman trope. Bailey was…this was, simply an individual situation. A doctor that commanded respect…and a tiny bit of fear.

So the requirement here was an immediate shake-down. Ugh, no. Dammit man! Obviously he meant stare-down? Stare-off? Shake-off? Which is what he did. He shook it off. Maybe it was the acronym SMH? He didn’t back down though. First, show no fear. Confidence is half the battle, son! Replicating her actions he crossed his own arms, stared seriously down at her and in a normal but respectful tone of voice asked, “What’s going on Dr. Bailey?”

Between the two of them he was actually the least surprised at the swiftness of her response. It was like she wanted to spill the beans, like she was dying to have this information seeming to be dragged out of her. And being the recipient of these particulars actually ended up advantageously for him. This was the mysterious stranger, he guesstimated. An Efficiency Expert, a Consultant analyzing the interns…Dr. Eliza Minnick. He needed to check her out. But first it was time to orchestrate a breakout.

Multi-tasking wasn’t something that men as a rule were proficient at accomplishing. As an individual of the masculine persuasion however, he felt that he managed it admirably. Kinda sexist double-standard in the speak, right?

“Check yo self before you wreck yo self, pal.” He whispered words of self-encouragement to hisself. And never one to miss an opportunity for self-praise, he metaphorically patted himself on the back with an “Excellent pep-talk, bro.”

So anyway, with Jailbreak Kid in tow, he decided to do some amateur sleuthing. Who was this Dr. Minnick and what was this invisible sway she had over his libido? There was really only one reformed hound-dog that could assist with this vital info. Not to make too big a deal of it, but the guy had street smarts. Added to that, his past playa game meant that he still possessed the necessary skill-set to ferret out any and all statistics on whatever new talent arrived at the hospital. He was Yoda on the subject of Grey Sloan newbies, in that he knew it all and displayed an astuteness that was brutally honest while bordering on eccentric. Actionable intent though, he left it all up to you…to the person…to him? Whatever. He needed to pay a visit to The Jedi Master.

“Hey Avery, what you doing in the clinic? Bringing the kid in for her shots?” he was hailed.

“Not really. We’re just cruising for a bruising…not fightclubing mind you. What’s the first rule of fightclub friend?” he riposted, throwing out a challenge for good measure.

“You don’t talk about fightclub. Yeah, yeah I know. No one will hear from me that you stopped by. So what do you want?”

Churlish as ever. No beating around the bush for this dude.

“What’s the four-one-one alarm on this new consultant?” he boldly dropped the question. “I hear she’s making a list of naughty and nice,” he surreptitiously added further, sly wink accompanied. Innuendo anyone?

“I only saw her very briefly but I can tell you the force is not strong with that one. I have good lesdar.” What the what?! This guy…and creating words that made no sense…although looks like they were on the same Star Wars page.

“Lesdar…force? You have what now?” he prompted for clarity.

“She plays for her own team, Avery. Or do I mean the other team? Well whatever. I have strong lesbian radar!”

He snorted. Play on words, eh. Coining lesdar from the already coined gaydar. Portmanteau of a portmanteau. How very gauche.

“Bruh! Not so loud, man. Keep it on the QT. But funny. I didn’t get any gay vibes. She’s that brunette right? With that behind…” he stealthily slipped that query in. If anyone’s eyes were to be peeled to the shape of an attractive rear end, it was this fella.

“Whoa man. I take offence here. I’m a feminist you know and your sexism is slipping.”

Ohkaay. Did not see that response coming. When did the bloke graduate to adulthood?

“Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be talking like that. Especially with…”

“Chill dude, I was just messing with you,” he was interrupted. “Butt funny,” the smirk he wore at the unintended pun clearly indicating a never ending childishness. A joie de vivre. It was pleasing to witness, considering the unpleasantness that was the bloke’s present circumstances. Dude continued, adding his own brand advice…“Do what you want, just don’t be a dumbass about it, okay dumbass?”

Now that was helpful, he thought sarcastically. Also, the guy was onto him. He wasn’t planning on doing anything tho. This was simply a reconnaissance mission. He was sticking to that story.

“Real mature, dawg!” His defensive retort.

“Keeping it real. Boi got no game. Do or do not, there is no try bro,” came the sniggering comeback.

“Bite me…Asshole Yoda,” he rejoined with a smile.

“Whatever…and you’re welcome,” accompanied by a fist bump.

“See ya later Playa.” The last word, wrapped in a farewell.

Aah, brotherly love. Still life in this bromance.

Considering that he was a dad now and with tiny ears listening, he knew that his language needed to be scrubbed. First himself, then Meredith Grey’s newest interchangeable girlfriend/person, mayonnaise-ass Uncle Alex. Both needed to have their speech reconfigured.

Pondering on all he’d learnt from Alex Karev he roamed the hallways of the hospital. The guy was an idiot and a pansy kiss-ass to Grey (that was a subject for another time tho, maybe when Alex rediscovered his balls), but with his otherwise newly found adultness and monogamous mindset, his character assessments tended to be spot-on accurate. Well except for Meredith. And De-Luca. Maybe Jo. Okay, anyone that he was close to. De-Luca? That didn’t really jibe, true? Daaamn. Aight. Alex Karev was a maladaptive, rude, insulting prick, who was an honest, compassionate friend to those he cared about. His gooey inner softness was way, waaay below the surface. So for this time and because of that he was gonna be mindful of Alex’s observations. His musings were interrupted.

“Jackson?” the musical voice called out to him, causing him to turn around to face her. “Hi, my baby,” she continued confusing him no end. Were they back to endearment calling each other? And was her woman’s intuition tuned in to his earlier contemplations? Should he be expecting a real life back to the head whack? Wait a minute, something was messed up here…

It didn’t register straightaway. Yeah, right then he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But when the lightbulb brightened, all he could think was STFU?! So THIS was his mystery woman. Brunette Baby. Brunette Bailey? No. Dammit, c’mon! Would Dirty Dancing Nights please disappear from his brain?! Of course he meant to think Brunette Barbie. And from his earlier suppositions, Asian Brunette Barbie? To be more precise in his confusion, Dr. Asian Brunette Barbie? His very own DABB. Dabbin’? He would hit the dabb, whoop ass with his moves! But Nah, there was no Asian in her ancestry. He was just messin’. Before he could insert his foot further in mouth…or thought, she continued. He never could get a word in edgewise around her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why are you traipsing around the hospital with this little accessory? I went to feed her and daycare told me you’d spirited her away. It’s all right. I know that you can’t resist this little nugget, can you?”

She gently slid a finger down Jordan’s baby-soft cheek and then completed the movement with what had become their ritual, Eskimo kisses. And Jordan, the little bugger, immediately started rooting around for her meal, mewling in complaint as if he had been starving her. Girl and her food, what could he say. She was her father’s daughter.

“Here, let me take her for a bit then you can come get her from me when she’s finished nursing. If you’re still free that is. Attending’s Lounge, okay?”

He watched as the words formed on her lips and emerged from her mouth. Uncomprehendingly. She even took Jordan from his arms and proceeded to converse with her and yes his child, under her thrall, stopped her cranky, hungry tone and instead cooed in response. He guessed that she assumed that his non-verbal response connoted acceptance of everything she’d just said, as she continued on her merry way. Although, he did receive a puzzled side-eye glance. Out of her ear-shot, his verbal acuity returned and all he could murmur was her name, “April.”

Not stopping to think about the wisdom of his actions, he hurriedly followed suit. Not quite quick enough though. He was brought up short at hearing her voice in adult conversation, accompanied by the smacking sounds of Jordan breast feeding. No patience, that girl, when it came to her mealtime. Daddy’s little replica. He couldn’t help but be proud.

Anyway, it was girl-talk with Arizona. So he decided to leave and return in a while for Jordan. This would give him a small window of alone time to figure out what had just transpired today and how he’d been gawking at this ebony-haired vision of a version of his ex-wife…all morning. Eliza who?

Why would she do that, he speculated? Admittedly the look was Sasse, but why? Those auburn curls, all gone. Why?! He needed to know. And definitely it would be discussed with Arizona. Fuck good manners and privacy, he thought. This affected him. Not directly of course, it was her body. Okay yeah, it affected him not at all. But he stayed anyway. Outa sight, outa mind. But definitely within listening range.

“You know that underwire bra is not the best way to go in terms of feeding bras right? The rigidity of the wire could cause lactation problems by inhibiting blood flow and milk production. Or even lead to a clogged duct or mastitis. I know conventional nursing bras are not the most attractive…and the underwire one you have on looks amazing. But, is there any reason for this new look, huh sexy mama? And the bombshell hair too? Why the change?”

Dr. Arizona Robbins, In-Utero Fetal and ex Pediatric Surgeon extraordinaire y’all. Also, apparent OB/GYN MD and bra expert.

“That’s old school Arizona. Both you and George Lucas have this idea that an expanding body and underwire bra don’t go together like hand in glove…or rather boob in cup.”

Next up is Dr. April Kepner. Doctor of comedy, apparently.

“George Lucas…wha…?”

“Don’t worry, this is Flexi-wire. So I won’t get strangled by my own underwear.”

Laugh a minute, she was. Also not done yet with her routine.

“Strangled? Who said anything about choking…?”

”And yeah, you’re right. Fashion for lactating mothers has glided into the 21st century with the land-speed of a tortoise. But with current trend setter celebrities having babies, mommy modes have improved. Drastically. They’re even producing much more attractively made bras. You could possible even get the iconic Princess Leia metallic bra in nursing style, if you were so inclined. Which, to be clear, I’m not.”

Oh man, he needed to find the Leia bikini the next time he dropped by his old digs. April was nothing if not transparent to him. She had the set. Possibly not a nursing bra, but yeah she had it. Star Wars memorabilia and April, what could he say? She loved the franchise. Although, the feminist in her would have waged an internal war. He knew which part won tho. She’d given in to the dark side.

Her SW keepsakes didn’t come close to his sneaker collection, but then again nothing was that huge. His assortment even rivaled Colin Kaepernick’s similar hoard, which he’d just recently read the activist quarterback had disbanded and distributed to the underprivileged. The guy was an inspiration. Truly. Hopefully that generosity of spirit rubbed off on him. Him giving away some of his stockpile too, not the unclear meaning of Kaepernick donating to him. He was definitely not disadvantaged. Hello, Plastic Surgeon income over here and not even mentioning trust fund baby. His legacy trust alone could feed a small country multiple times over. What he was, was disenfranchised. Both Kap and he belonged to a marginalized group. The African American Man.

If by some manner of fancy footwork he managed to finesse a look see into April’s bedroom and found the real deal, he knew it would be worthless. The main attraction would be April in it. So alone it would do him no good. He almost wept at the double whammy. Referring to their old bedroom as April’s and secondly never having the opportunity to see the metal bikini in action. If they were still together and knowing what a good sport April was, he would surely have been able to convince her to go full hog on the fantasy. Down to the braided ‘cinnamon buns’. Damn Divorce.

He figured that she was onto him too. During his adolescence he’d become a closet fanboy of Carrie Fisher in the gold sci-fi swimsuit. Admittedly, it had hit pop culture status before his time. Pre pre-pubescence (he was actually a toddler when the movie was released) but he’d become an SW aficionado too, during his younger years. It was a good hustle. And of course, Carrie Fisher’s Leia was timeless, every nerds wish fulfilment. So a youthful fantasy bit the dust.

With where they stood now, April would never…and it wasn’t like he had a fetish for wearing women’s underwear or anything…even if it was Princess Leia’s iconic metallic bikini. That was his word and he was sticking to it.

Still weighing in on the AA convo he wondered exactly how close Arizona was looking. This lesbian Obstetrician/Gynecologist (or so her rhetoric would have you believe) checking his wife out…alright dammit, his ex-wife. Double Damn Divorce.

He had a strong suspicion that AZ was on the prowl and from the conversations he’d overheard, quite innocently mind you, it seemed like she’d set her sights on April. Over his dead body. If Alex was to be believed perhaps he could throw this Minnick into her path. Get her away from April and do his good deed of helping a pair of unattached lesbians find each other. Two birds, one stone. He needed to up his game. But Damn, too. He should let up with this homophobic oration. He needed to do better.

Whoa. It just hit him…was it his Averyness that had him, in his own mind, speaking to an audience of avid listeners?! Self-absorbed much? Add a smidgeon of American arrogance and personal vanity and voilà, Norbert’s your uncle. Avery heritage had much to answer for. But going by the Kepner school of thought, it was much cheaper than therapy rite? His invisible audio onlookers were the perfect psychologists. Free mental health him, huge entertainment value them. Win-win, all around.

“What was that about me and George Lucas? You say the weirdest things sometimes, April.”

Don’t call her weird, Arizona! No, just no. Just because you’re not dialed in to the uniqueness that is April speak...So no. Just don’t.

“George Lucas…Star Wars…Princess Leia and that famous quote?” he heard April spell it out for AZ.

“Sorry my popular culture button has been on pause since Sofia’s with Callie. It’s been all work, work, work…Which reminds me…uhh, there’s something I need to ask you…”

Boy, and he thought he was self-involved. Talk about clueless. Or oblivious about anything that didn’t affect her directly. Well she was about to be majorly reprimanded and not only because April was an SW fangirl. C’mon, it was simple humanity, man.

“It’s Carrie Fisher, Arizona! She just died. And okay, she did pioneer the Star Wars Princess Leia role into one of the most famous followings, but that’s not what this is about. It’s everywhere in the news. The saddest thing ever.” Her voice actually quivered and he realized how affected she was by the actresses death. His soft-hearted, darling…baby mama?

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know she died, RIP Carrie Fisher. But I still don’t know the quote you speak of.”

Come to think of it Carrie Fisher had been quite the feminist example. Except for the famous bikini, which she’d made no bones about her unhappiness at becoming the standard by which young boys discovered their manhood, her role in the initial SW trilogy had been a strong female lead. She hadn’t been the side piece, closed mouthed, bare bodied supporting role. While the men had run witlessly around playing hero, her role was substance. Brain over brawn. And a class act to boot. Leia Organa never faltered in her belief and in fact resisted Darth Vader quite boldly. It was quite clear to see why April admired the character as well as the supremely talented actress who played the role with such vigor and truth.

“Donno how you overlooked it…It’s too long of a story about how the quote came about but the gist is basically that she said, ‘No matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.’ She was…wait for it…Legendary!” She schooled with precision, throwing in one humorous ‘How I met your Mother, Barney Stinson’ famous catchphrase for good measure.

“Oh, I see what you meant about not getting strangled by your bra. Carrie Fisher was a treasure.”

“Yeah, yeah she was. She’ll be missed.”

“You know you never answered my question from earlier. C’mon April. Hot, racy, red underwear that does such great things for your skin and goes so well with the sexy new hair…is it for Jackson? Rev his motor?”

Well now. This was dope. Red underwear and April? Even better than the flattering, boob uprising teal and dare he say it, The Princess Leia Bikini? Who said that eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves? He was coming in hot and he really needed to be in that room with a view.

“No, it’s not for Jackson. It’s for me. You know you’re creeping me out with the staring. I’ve felt watched today. Specifically someone checking out my ass. Just stop please.”

And now he felt like an asshole. Like a pervert stalker. It never crossed his mind to even consider the impact of his leering appreciation. With the daily dangers they faced, women had to be extra vigilant and he was appalled that his unconscious behavior had caused more fear and worry than a simple reciprocal attraction or a direct “Not interested.” He’d taken away her choice and given no opportunity for an honest conversation. Boy, approaching dating in these times was debilitating. Like an obstacle course through a minefield.

Even Tinder, after the divorce obviously, hadn’t worked out for him. All he’d done was swipe left. He’d come to the realization that April was his only right. His Bae. This was one popularly cultured word that didn’t sit well with him considering the literal Danish translation was poop. And class clown as his role sometimes was, he would never have used poop in any form as an endearment. He valued his nether regions too much to risk them, and him, being emasculated.

Although she was still feeding, he heard Jordan start fussing. He had to smile. She was right on cue. Pastor Shirley time. Wait for it…

“I got Beans, Greens, Potatoes, Tomatoes, Lamb, Ram, Hogs, Dogs, Chicken, Turkey, Rabbit…you name it.”

“April, what the…what are you singing?” he heard Arizona laughingly ask.

Outa the loop with this one, hey AZ? Well, in your face.

Not breaking the tune April replied, “This is all Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. Avery, Doctor, Daddy…you name it.” Normally voiced she continued explaining. “He made her listen to the original, which she went crazy over. And now he adds other things in the same tune when she starts acting up. It’s mostly when I’m feeding her though that she wants the song. Girls a hot mess.” And once more chorus, “She is, yes, yes, she is…Jordan, Kepner, Avery, Peach, Potato, Carrot…Nugget, Nugget, Nugget…you name it.”

“Your child’s a hoot, April. Or maybe she’s just ready for real food. You know it’s okay to start her on solids. A bit early, but each child is different. Her development is on track. Ahead if you ask me. She’ll be fine with solids.”

“Yeah, Jackson and I have decided to start her on baby cereal and a ‘mélange of tender vegetables’…that’s just Avery speak for mashed carrots and other veggies.”

Hey! No tea spilling, shade throwing or smack talk, April! He could almost see the expressive eye-roll. Yes, she rolled her eyes with panache. Avery style.

“They grow up so fast, Arizona.”

“Who does? Jackson…or Jordan?”

Whoa…patronizing much? You cancelled, AZ.

“Jordan, of course. I donno about Jackson.”

Haha, everyone’s a comedian. Why was April even laughing? Witless joke…it wasn’t even funny.

“Yeah, I don’t think men ever grow up.”

How would you know, AZ?!

“I’m gonna miss this time with her and the tiny madam is getting spoilt I tell you. Already with this big personality and little attitude.”

“Whoa there missy! You are broody.”

“Noooo. No I’m not…Am I? Maybe a bit melancholic. Colic, how fitting,” he heard a combination snort/sigh emerge. “Perhaps you’re right. I know I don’t want Jordan to be an only child. My sisters drive me crazy a lot of the time but I wouldn’t trade them for the lonely existence of being an only child.”

“Hmm…so that explains the new look. You’re shopping around!”

Da fuck you just say?!

“What?! No. You’re way off base here. It’s just more manageable with the baby and well I needed a change.”

“Something that’s the opposite of what Jackson liked?”

Hah, joke’s on you, AZ. My preference is April. Any which way. Even if the carpet and drapes don’t match.

“Jackson didn’t factor into this at all, Arizona.”

“It’s okay, you know, to move on, April. You’re divorced. And you don’t need to jump into a relationship to have a child. I guess it depends on how interactive you want the father to be? You have many options. Put yourself out there. Don’t cut yourself off from future happiness because of past mistakes.”

STOP Arizona. Stop advising his April to move on from him, to give up on him! Damn Divorce. He needed to get away from this corridor. Snippets of Arizona conversation followed his exodus.

“Mom’s Night Out…Plum…Trivia night…”

He couldn’t stand to hear anymore. April having another child…more children…that he could definitely see. She was a born nurturer. Him not the father? That ate at his gut like a raw wound. It would be his just desserts though. Why was he unable to man up and tell her how he felt? He’d stood up once. At the absolutely last second, technically, but he’d done it. When reality had hit and he’d almost lost her to another man.

Looking back to the day that Jordan arrived, he reflected on how he’d almost lost her twice…no, thrice…and how he’d been unable to articulate his feelings. The first time had been when Ben had cut into her to deliver the baby and all he’d heard over the phone after her agonizing scream had been deafening silence. The second was when she’d been rushed into the hospital and straight into surgery, intubated and out cold. And the last was when she suffered a postpartum hemorrhage, the cause of which was most likely due to Ben’s incision causing an accidental laceration into an artery close to the uterus, which tear hadn’t been detected before. There’d been so much blood and once again she’d been down for the count.

Granted, her being unconscious would make any conversation with him impossible, let alone allow for the improbability of her comprehending anything he’d declare. Talk about a huge deterrent! And being a science v faith guy, he conceded to that as fact.

He was aware, however, that many people believed in so-called miracles. This strong conviction was proof enough for them to believe that an insentient person was capable of hearing someone trying to communicate with them. He pondered whether any of these opposing faith versus science gurus had firsthand experience of this phenomenon. Perhaps this was simply a faux pas, where their pundit had erroneously substituted incontinent with insentient? Not that loss of bladder control was in any way comparable to being comatose or applicable to the situation. Except for the rhythmic similarities of the words. Nonetheless, his own disbelief in such scenarios, was sufficient as an excuse to not even try.

But what about when she came to after the surgeries and during her recovery? By then justification had set-in, and fear had held a stranglehold on his cojónes. Anxiety that he was being selfish. Terror that she would be lost to him along with the cordiality that was slowly resuming into the likeness of their past friendship. Losing her again, either physically or emotionally, incorporated more dire repercussions this time around. It wasn’t just him, a grown-ass man. Jordan too would be affected. Or so he reasoned.

Jordan would grow up in a toxic environment with her parents at each other’s throats, he rationalized. He based these suppositions on their post Samuel, pre-divorce, between 2 Jordan trips behavior. Jordan the country, not Jordan the heir. This was when neither of them would admit to their faults and complicity in the decimation of their marriage. What he failed to cop to now, was the residual anger that he still carried. Both at her and himself. Resentment that he hadn’t worked through. He acknowledged that giving up on therapy hadn’t been the wisest course of action. And neither was the impulsive reactionary move of filing for divorce.

Damn Divorce. It hadn’t proved a damn thing. Not only hadn’t it magically cured his emotional issues but he also did not have control of his life back. Where was this post-divorce emotional health and fresh start that they spoke of? Also, who was the they that spouted such new age mumbo jumbo nonsense and why was he taking life advice from them? It obviously wasn’t scientists. But truth be told, the scientific probability of a large percentage of marriages ending in divorce, was high. Especially if you were a doctor at Grey Sloan Memorial and your name was not on the building.

Standing at the nurses station he’d ended up in front of, he watched as Meredith Grey ordered nurses about, her expression clearly showing frustration at the dearth of surgical interns to do her bidding. From an analytical point of view he questioned how it was possible that out of all the surgeons at the hospital, hers was the only union that hadn’t ended in divorce?

Yes, she was widowed, so still spouseless, but the comparison he was most interested in was to her marriage. Like all the other doctors at Grey Sloan she and Derek had faced similar career challenges and the balancing of home and family life. Yet, somehow they’d managed to overcome the odds and in fact had ended up being the only couple undivorced. Since it was such an unusually uncommon occurrence amongst his peers, he could be forgiven for coining this rare word for an even rarer non-event.

What was their secret? From the tale of woe he’d heard and laterally been a spectator to, he knew that they’d begun unconventionally. Meredith had been the other woman. So in essence she’d been complicit in one divorce of her husband. Derek had picked her, chosen her. Not that he was surprised. In their case, like had attracted like.

From his observations he’d taken note of their similarities. But, as it was for most people, both parties possessed individual character weaknesses. Their differences were the flaws themselves. For he was a cheater while she had been the spineless whiner begging him to leave his wife for her. The most surprising part of their merger was that Meredith had managed to sustain Derek’s interest. Unfaithful spouses usually became serial cheaters, and that was a hard habit to break.

Now while it was true that surgeons inherently strutted around with vast egos, Neurosurgeon Shepherd would have been flattered by the constant genuflecting to his greatness by a younger woman. Narcissism invited pandering of sycophants and while that was the epitome of Derek Shepherd it defined Meredith Grey too, as both descriptors. So perhaps their ‘healthy’ union was the joint prostration by each to the others vanity. Maybe they took turns stroking egos.

He shook his head at himself. Why was he so bitter? Yes, he regretted his damn divorce but he’d never been dog-in-the-mangerish about happiness or even envious about others accomplishments, personal or professional. He suspected it had much to do with the racist ass comments he’d heard circuitously, originating from Grey. Not only were they offensive but he was appalled at the witlessness emanating from an educated woman, one especially that was bringing up a Black child.

Well, if he was being technical, everyone seemed to be raising Grey’s McChildren. Look he knew it took a village, but he was shocked at the dangerously low level of interaction Meredith had with her own kids. Even to the point of staying at the hospital when she didn’t need to. In fact the Maggie/Amelia/Alex trio of half, in-law and no relation sisters many a time substituted themselves into the role of parent to Zola, Bailey and Ellis Grey…or was it Shepherd? He had no clue. Neither was he aware of the meaning behind the Mc moniker, but he’d picked up that it had been used as a precursor to nicknames for both Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan. Thus, he saw fit to similarly McName Derek’s rug rats.

Having been brought up by a workaholic single mother himself, he knew it wasn’t ideal. All the money in the world couldn’t make up for lost time. This type of exposure, or rather non-exposure, he would have thought would be something that Meredith would have learnt not to visit on her brood. And oh yeah, why were the youngsters absent from the wedding of their Aunt Amelia? That smacked of a selfishness he couldn’t comprehend.

He was thankful that Jordan had a mother who prioritized her and actually wanted to spend time with her child. For people like Grey, he realized, their children became status symbols of a sort. And Zola being a Black person required that much more sensitivity, in that she would need to be educated and schooled in her history and how to combat the prejudice she would surely face every day of her life. Ignorance and indifference was no way to approach child rearing and he had a strong suspicion that either or both were playing out for the Grey-Shepherd children.

He was grateful too for the parent he had. While quantity of time had not been a priority, quality had. Absurdly that statement actually gave him pause and a reconsideration vis-à-vis Meredith Grey parenting 101. He allowed that he may have been mistaken regarding the time she spent with her kiddos. On that point he conceded the benefit of the doubt, to her favor. But not concerning her stupid-ass comments regarding her Black kid, Zola.

The lessons he’d learnt from his own mother were key to his belief system. She’d forced him to assimilate, experience and master life via his own mistakes. One of the most important aspects she had taught him to wholeheartedly embrace, was his Black culture. She’d also instilled in him values and a strong sense of morality while at the same time driving him to think and act critically regarding social issues while scientifically analyzing, well everything else. His vision and knowledge had encompassed many aspects of life, whereas Meredith Grey’s myopic view didn’t extend beyond her own self-centered hypocrisy.

She’d surprised him recently, Catherine had. Not with her anger at April, that he understood. No one messed with Mama Avery’s baby boy and emerged unscathed. Or at the very least without receiving a verbal tongue lashing. What confounded him was his mother’s siding with Meredith Grey. Basically patting her on the back for her being a supposed ally to Black people. He did not understand this need to credit Meredith’s White Savior Complex, and in light of Grey’s latest, perhaps unwitting, racist comments it was simply in poor taste.

His mother was clued up about issues affecting the Black Population, having lived through the hardships and daily aggressions as a young Black girl during the latter part of the Jim Crow laws that enforced racial segregation. She was present and active too at the beginning of the civil rights movement. Becoming a notable authority in her field, with the coupling of being Black and female, she’d endured prejudice and discrimination in its many forms. The implicit racism was a bonus. Yes, that was sarcasm.

So what was that kiss-ass pandering to Grey all about? She almost sounded like a Black apologist…nah, that couldn’t be. The only scenario where this made sense was if she was being sarcastic in her applause. A subtle mocking. Perhaps she too had come across that hilarious satirical HR video entitled ‘White Fragility Training: Raising Racial Awareness of White Discomfort with Racial Awareness’ which was a tongue-in-cheek poke at white fragility. As the y-tube video had comically explained, being sensitive to white fragility was indeed difficult. Tough to stomach, would be his non-humorous take.

Back from his digression now though and onto the regular broadcast of the Grey situation. Since the GSM world revolved around MG, it behooved him to fall in line too. The rhetoric that he’d heard from Meredith regarding racism and the so-called ‘reverse-racism’ she’d sustained by means of personal insult, was enough to make his head spin. Equating an offensive slight to systemic oppression suffered by Black people the world over was simply ludicrous. 1-800-Reverse Racism Isn’t Real, Grey! The call-back (punfully ironic, yeah) that she needed to stop ignoring. Furthermore, white people didn’t endure racist oppression, he felt the need to elucidate and educate. What they faced was individual prejudice, maybe bigotry or discrimination, but more likely singular dislike or hate and subsequently getting their white feelings hurt. Butt-hurt in African American parlance. Definitely not systemic racism. The balance of power residing with white bore that out.

Her argument justifying the concept of racism that she as a white woman allegedly had to endure, was equally preposterous. She couldn’t be racist, she’d retorted, because she had a Black child. Uttered completely straight-faced. Not only was she using Zola’s existence in this horrendous manner but she blatantly ignored her own complicity. Proximity to and association with Blackness is not being Black, Grey! Neither is Grey being Black adjacent, he puntitiously made his point to himself. Nearness to the Black experience did not equate to a Black person’s experience. And using Zola as a shield when getting called out for problematic bullshit was atrocious parenting and worse still appalling personhood.

It astounded him that her oblivious ass had expectations of exemption for her intolerance simply because she had a Black child. Not to mention that having a Black kid didn’t disqualify a white person from racist tendencies and expressing anti-blackness. The micro-aggressions she inflicted were indignities that communicated hostile, derogatory, negative racial slights and insults toward POC. Meredith Grey refused to educate herself on the subject of systemic racism against Black People. Not only for the sake of her young children but neither was she interested in her own self-actualization, it seemed.

She’d proved that with her further unintelligent comments on Muslims and Islam. Unable to even tell the difference between the religion and its followers. Islam, the religion and Muslims, followers of the faith. The words were not interchangeable. Once again she reinforced his perception. The Grey alter ego, it appeared, was an all-round ignorant, racist, Islamaphobe, unwilling to even attempt bettering her knowledge. Intellectually vacant seemed to best describe her. She was white, who took the time to engage with ignorance (ironic self-description perhaps?), and so of course she didn’t need schoolin. All he could do was shake his head once again. This time the incredulity the movement reflected was not at himself.

A derisive but not wholly unkind description of Derek Shepherd’s Dirty Mistress (Meredith’s past own words and interpretation of herself) which he’d heard subsequent to her idiotic statements, hit the nail squarely on the head. “She’s a self-involved narcissist with the personality of a giant toddler who needs a nap!” A bit light on the contempt, but it proved that other people too saw the ugliness behind the façade of the white American blonde beauty standard. The permanently snide smirk she wore should have been the first clue.

In light of his undergoing the painfulness of being a witness to Meredith Grey’s excessive vanity and idiocy, he’d come across one of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s lesser quotable quotes (for the obvious reason of it not tying in to the white narrative). It had resonated deeply within him. Especially when he considered the white vainglories he was surrounded by, of which April was decidedly not one. Neither was she racist, prone to prejudice or judgement based on color, sex, sexual orientation or religion. He really deserved that back of the head slap when he considered what he had let go. Damn divorce.

Anyway…MLK’s wisdom. In his book ‘Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?’ he’d written: “Whites, it must frankly be said, are not putting in a similar mass effort to reeducate themselves out of their racial ignorance. It is an aspect of their sense of superiority that the white people of America believe they have so little to learn.” And there it was. In the nutshell of an MLK quote. He who white people had co-opted as the Black figurehead of peace and turning the other cheek thereby using him in their defense of maintaining the status quo of white superiority. Whose speeches and works they’d similarly cherry-picked, ignoring his radical truth of working towards equality for the Black Race. This they’d done by means of subverting his words with half-truths and half-reveals that tied in with their version of peaceful, love everyone, all lives matter crap. In these times and climes, basically trying to undermine the Black Lives Matter Movement.

All lives matter folk that jumped to the fore when any mention was made of trying to balance the inequalities of the past. It royally pissed him off. Love not hate, blah blah blah and all that BS. It actually was a selfish mentality. Them then trying to spring a guilt complex on you. “I was being a good ally, and I was met with hate.” Once again the voice of Meredith Grey reared her ugly head. She played the white victimhood card like a pro.

As a person from a marginalized group, one who faced clear micro-aggressions daily, it was not his responsibility to school ignorance. Nevertheless, if given the opportunity of a receptive, willing to see and learn audience of Grey and her like-minded minions, he would have advice for them. White people. Check your privilege. Check your martyr complex. Check your white tears. And look deep into your psyche for the why of your words. A true ally wouldn’t co-opt the opportunity simply for fame and attention and then turn it around on those plagued by racism. Being ‘savage’, stealing not only the words of Black culture but in turn using those very words to further persecute. That is adding fuel to the fire of oppression.

They’re PR experts, this white privilege. Standing to attention as the white savior they see themselves as. But Black does not need saving from themselves, so disengage, ypipo. Sit down. See yourself to the nearest exit. Stay in your lane and mind yo business. Fact check yo self. Allow Black people the respect of owning their own pain and experiences and let them guide as to the level of allies required. Perfect white allyship could be aspirational, advocating for but not speaking over Black Life.

Enough time had passed since he’d pulled a physical Houdini, but the metal box of his mental musings made escape impossible. He’d been tied up in knots or, considering the parallel, chains. But the key to the magician’s trick of escaping the bonds undetected was simple confrontation. Specifically, a head-on face to face awareness of his issues. The clamor of the internal debate, like a low buzz. Noisy and draining.

He’d worked out his anger and bitterness and while these internal monologues were exhausting, they were certainly cathartic. Introspection could be a valuable tool in enhancing mental health. Pfft, who needed therapists? Especially when no response was required. Although, maybe every now and then a “How do you feel about that?” wouldn’t have gone amiss or been considered too intrusive. On the rare occasion, he didn’t mind the prodding of his emotions. Anyway, he was Zen. Or was it Force sensitive? Also, his baby needed him. Or did he need her?

Entering the lounge he could hear April still going strong with Pastor Shirley’s “You name it” song. It certainly was catchy. Which is why he’d introduced it to his girls. She’d finished nursing Jordan and was patting her back in time to the tune, trying to get her to burp. He smiled to himself at his earlier analogy of his mother patting Grey on her back. Perhaps that was the indirect meaning, ridding Meredith of excess gas.

Anyway, his little miss was enjoying “Beans, Greens, Potatoes, Tomatoes …you name it”. Tremendously it seemed, adding her own cooing to the acoustics, reaching crescendo with a loud belch. Daddy’s delicate Angel. He and April had to laugh.

Per his modus operandi and when push came to shove, cat gots (gets?) his tongue. Timing was never his strong suit. So the instantly hatched plan was simply just to take Jordan back to day care and not say anything to April. Well, aside from the usual pleasantries, which were never simple. Either too much info or nothing at all. No middle ground for these ex’s. Plans were made to be broken however, and as he’d proven before, when he went off script disaster ensued. This one wasn’t a major train smash tho. Not that you could tell by Jordan’s expression, which seemed to say, “Really dad, that the best you got? Where your A-Game at, dude?”

All he’d said to April was, “You look nice.” And she did. That hair, those lips, that booty, those perky bosoms…even from behind, and not knowing who she was, she’d lit every button of his. Definite Code Red. Honkin’ chesticles, he’d heard the locker room phrase just the other day. He shook away those thoughts. Kinda inappropriate with their little gremlin in the room with them. Wait a minute...was Jordan trying to Parent Trap them? Hey, he wouldn’t mind. They just needed another one of her. And he was up for the challenge. Avery’s never backed down. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

“Err, Jackson? You got a minute?”

Shit. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. That’s why the hit and run compliment followed by a quick exit. He’d barely had time to process the expressions flitting across her face. First a slight, barely discernible frown, supplanted by a shy, uncomfortable smile. He supposed this was her well-mannered acknowledgement. But then, what did he expect? You look nice, he’d said. Real smooth, Avery! He could feel the final remnants of his game slipping away? No game on, Jack…son.

“Umh, sure…of course. What do you need?” Good Avery breeding strikes again. Goddammit.

“You know we decided on initiating solid food into her diet. I know it’s a little early, but I don’t think the milk alone is cutting it anymore. So, like I told you, I’ve already begun with the baby cereal for breakfast. Also steamed and pureed some organic vegetables. We just have to thin them with some of my breast milk and see which ones she likes. I think the sweet potato may be a hit. Not so sure about the mushed peas and carrots. But then again, she’s you, so she may just like anything we give her. Oh and I’ve also done and frozen blocks of zucchini and squash. And since we want her to have the whole culinary experience, I’ve done some fruit blocks too. Avocado, Red apple and blueberries. Oh and banana is just smash and go. It’s a start anyway.”

He should have known she’d go full on MasterChef Baby on him.

“Ohkaay then. Good to know. Why you telling me this? You want me to feed her? Sure, I can do that.”

“Umhmm…actually I wondered if you wanted to take her tonight? I, er, actually made plans to go out. Accompanying Arizona actually. She needed…oh nevermind. You’re not interested in that. Anyway, I think you’ll be able to handle it. And I’ve expressed enough breast milk to last the whole night. You’ve bottle fed her my milk, so we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

And there it was. What he was trying to avoid. Not the taking Jordan overnight part. That he was hyper thrilled, if not a tiny bit apprehensive, about. What ate at him was that April would not be with them and what really chewed him up was that she would be out on the town. Recruiting new baby daddies.

I guess she misinterpreted his silence. Before he could acquiesce, however reluctantly and for reasons he would not be going into, April rushed into further speech.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You obviously have plans. No problem. We’ll have a re-do. Another time. When you’re free.”

“No, no, no. It’s fine. I’ll take her. I want to have her. Really. I do.”

“Are you sure? My plans are not set in stone. I can always go out another time. I’ll cancel tonight.”

“Nope, don’t do that. We’ll be fine. Really. It’s all good. And you deserve a Mom’s Night Out.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Arizona said. You sure about this?” He nodded in the affirmative. “Okay then. I’ll be available anytime on my cell alright? And before you leave for home please bring her to say goodnight.”

“Sure, will do. Don’t worry about us. Go out and enjoy yourself. Dip your toe into Seattle nightlife.”

She gazed at him quizzically at the last. Perhaps his jealousy had been apparent with that final caustic jab? He hoped that her Amygdala wasn’t firing on all synapses, otherwise how easy would it be for her to read his face, inscrutable as he tried to keep it, for clues as to how he really felt. Such a small area in the brain, with such a large capacity for mischief. Misbehaving Amygdala, it should be called.

“Oh, I’m gonna miss this little peach! Have fun with daddy, baby!” She bussed kisses all over Jordan’s face and it was a full 2 minutes before he was allowed to move.

Leaving that evening wasn’t supposed to be hard. Jordan had actually been on the verge of falling asleep. But he’d promised April, so he made a quick turn through the ER on their way out. Yeah, Trauma. With all the blood, germs and dying people. Fortunately none of that was going on just then and anyway Jordan’s mother was a kick-ass Trauma Surgeon, so they’d better suck it up and learn to deal.

Was this a portend of the upcoming night, he wondered or was Jordan simply picking up on April’s anxiety at the mild severing of her mommy attachment? April’s face had the most woebegone expression and his normally placid baby was screaming her guts out at being detached from her mother. What happened to her almost nap? Since he had to be the voice of reason, he simply left. Wailing baby in tow. When the going had to make tough decisions, the tough had to get going.

Well this was new. He admitted to some trepidation. He’d been with Jordan, obviously, every day since her birth but he’d never had her overnight and, terrifyingly, without supervision. Her not being on solid food yet had been a major decider to wait on starting the shared custody and yes her bonding with April had been vital. Bonding like birds and dogs, that time was key. Not to say he hadn’t anticipated this moment. He’d simply hoped to convince April to spend the night too…purely to facilitate a smooth transition.

Oh, who was he kidding? This was his family and he wanted them all living together under his roof. Where he could take care of them. Where he would provide any and every thing they desired. And mainly, where he hoped to slowly win back the heart of the woman he’d callously been careless with. April had been a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.

Perhaps all was not lost. His inadvertent eavesdropping (yeah he was sticking to that story) meant that he knew where April would be that night. Perhaps this called for some mild sabotage. Nothing too dramatic, mind you. A spontaneous drop-by. Jordan needed her and that was the gospel truth. He bundled baby up warmly and off they went. Mission Plum was a go.

She cried all the way there. Strapped into her car-seat, she faced away from him. All he heard was wailing that tapered off to heart-breaking whimpering. What happened to his good-natured little cherub? Okay so it was way past her bedtime and as Anal April had said, which he was paraphrasing, “The very nature of schedules were that they were meant to be followed.” Yeah, obsessive compulsive much. Also, Jordan missed her mother.

“C’mon baby, you’re making daddy look bad. C’mon, calm down now please, sweetheart. I’m getting mommy for us.”

He received odd looks from everyone he passed, but he didn’t give a flying fuck. So, okay, he wouldn’t be receiving any Best Parenting Awards in the near future, but so what? His actions alone were a valuable lesson for the munchkin he now had strapped to his chest. At least she’d stopped the blubbering.

Off topic a bit…he was really glad that he didn’t have a Kangaroo Wrap or African Mei Tai Baby Carrier. He didn’t think his masculinity could have pulled the look off with any aplomb. While the grace and style of those carriers were all the rage, it was an April/Jordan collaboration. The best fashion sense he could pass on to his daughter would be to let April dress her…and perhaps some Jordans for his Jordan. You couldn’t go wrong with an Air Jordan. His shawty would be that black girl magic.

Definitely no Vampire Jackets or Pointy Shoes tho. Sometimes he scared himself with what he threw together. One huge plus was that he hadn’t been caught wearing ‘Mom Jeans’. With the state of his diet without April there to look after it (it was all about tacos, burritos and fast food), the possibility had been frightfully close. “How you like me now, white Amerikkka? European beauty standards slipping, am I rite?” Come to think of it, wasn’t the Beer Gut as Amerikkkan as Apple Pie? His belly tho, was simply Couvade Syndrome. The sympathetic weight gain he experienced during both April’s pregnancies. That was his word on the subject and he was sticking to it.

Anyway, back to topic…the lesson that Jordan could assimilate, via his actions. This would be another doozy. On par with the huge declaration that garnered him a wife. I mean, c’mon, he had delusions of adequacy. Since he’d gone all gender specific just then, he decided to let his inner feminist run with the moral. As he was scared shitless, he took heart from a quote by feminist Carrie Fisher. She’d said: “Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow.” Inspirational words and a message he intended to implement forthwith.

But wait a second. White feminism wasn’t all the hype it was cracked up to be. For the simple reason that it ignored intersectionality. The Women’s March that had just happened, which organizers comprised Women of Color, was co-opted by white women who previously were complicit in their silence when Black Women were being killed. Now their primary issue was reclaiming the derogatory term “pussy” while simultaneously speaking over and ignoring the life threatening issues that marginalized women were facing daily. It was Meredith Grey white tears all over again.

He was honestly embarrassed to claim himself as an American. All those elitist white women, Meryl Streep, Emma Watson, Scarlett Johansson and even Madonna, all butt-hurt about the President they’d voted in and his “grabbing the pussy” rapist terminology but inarticulate about the Murder, Death, Kills the American Government was complicit in. Why? Because that affected Black and Brown People, so who cared? White privilege speaking over Black experience once again. It pissed him off enough to reconsider white feminist heroes. Ericka Hart speaking at the Philadelphia Women’s March. Now that was a Black Woman Feminist, the hero that he could get behind.

In view of his eye-opening epiphany he considered another quote regarding courage. This one from an existing hero, as opposed to a newly found one, but in essence from a late, great African Man. The incomparable Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, South Africa’s first democratically elected President, who served as such from 1994 to 1999. South Africa’s first Black Head of State and the first elected in a fully representative democratic election.

Also, as he’d heard a contestant on an episode of Celebrity Name Game describe him, The Great Boxer Nelson Mandela. Strangely enough, even though to the young woman contestant all Black Men probably looked alike, she was correct about him being an avid boxing enthusiast and boxer himself during his youth. That was not his claim to fame however. South African History revealed the true grandiosity of his contribution towards abolishing Apartheid Laws and implementing a true democracy in the land. He’d even coined the term “Rainbow Nation” for his South African brethren. No, wait. That was Archbishop Desmond Tutu who came up with the term. A great man too. If he were looking for an American parallel to explain the correlation between the two men, I guess it would be that the Arch was MLK to Mandela’s Malcolm X. What an honor, to have either of them as a leader. What Superheroes were made of.

One of Former President Mandela’s numerous, oft quoted phrases that was applicable to his present situation and which spurred abundant variations, was as follows. “I learned that Courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” Wise words. One’s requiring emulation. Variations on the theme were just as relevant. “Courage is not having no fear, it is acting in spite of it.” And also, “Courage is not the absence of fear, it is the ability to act in the presence of fear.” It was all bout the fear, bout the fear, no terror. He was simply a shiver, looking for a spine to run up. So he hoped that all these quotes on bravery would be the impetus that launched him into courageous action.

He wasn’t sure how it happened and what the entrance requirements were for Plum, but the next thing he knew he was inside trying to spot his baby mama. He didn’t have far to look, or more precisely, far to hear. April’s competitive spirit came out in the form of raucous arguing. Sometimes heckling too. And he really didn’t need a reminder of where else her boisterous exuberance manifested. Especially if he wasn’t the recipient of all that enthusiasm. Now was not the time to be caught in the throes of nostalgiagasm, he chastised himself.

Witnessing the havoc she caused, he took note too that he wasn’t the only one enthralled by her passionate nature. It was this take charge, and no prisoners, attitude that her patients saw and admired and what caused them to wholeheartedly put their faith in her. She was on the frontlines, in combat with the very devil, when she fought for you. How had he let that characteristic that he loved about her, become the excuse, the final straw that broke their marriage? Damn Divorce.

April Kepner was one-of-a-kind ... brilliant, original. Funny and emotionally fearless. She lived her life, bravely...captivating with her competitive spirit, her edginess. Her knowledge of sometimes useless trivia meant that she shined as a winner. She would charm everyone in that place and even without knowing her personally they would vie for her attention and the opportunity to impregnate her. That was not going to happen, not on his watch.

No, nope, not gonna happen.

He had an Open Run straight to her and he was gonna take the shot. Petrified but audacious won the day. The ultimate in love, he would even share his nachos with her. And hadn’t he heard something just then about Jalapeño poppers? Yeah, whatever food was his, was hers. If these were not reasons enough motivating her to return to the dark side, he knew he had one more ace up his sleeve. Laughter was the ultimate aphrodisiac. His wit would draw her to him like a magnetic force field. Just as long as she was chuckling with him and not at him.

As he approached April, Jordan in pouch started cooing. He liked her moves. Must be another of her favorite songs playing…

“Some people want it all...but I don’t want nothin at all, if it aint you baby, if I aint got you baby. Some people want diamond rings, some just want everything, but everything means nothing…if I aint got you…”

Now wasn’t this some magical sign from the universe, egging him on? What more did he need?

So his grand declaration…simple and succinct.

“I wanna make many more little Averys. Like Jordan, like you. And I want them only with you.”

This was a defining moment in his life, one he would never forget. The peace and contentment of having his girls in his arms, slow dancing to Alicia Keys. Hearing a squeal from the pipsqueak that sounded suspiciously like the prelude to the orchestral cacophony she was capable of and which she’d employed to the detriment of his hearing this fine night, he glanced downward into the baby pouch. She was lights out. So where were the sniffles coming from? Just how many babies did this nightclub cater for? He glanced towards April to share this amusing observation with her only to be met with empty space. What the hell?! Where had she disappeared to? What strange haziness clouded his vision? Like a dreamworld. And he swore he could hear a baby crying.

Gazing down at Jordan once more it was to find her wide awake and returning his quizzical look. She opened her mouth and he expected to see a wide gummy yawn, only to be met with conversation.

“C’est la vie Mon Amie,” she said in perfectly accented French. C’mon…what hot mess was this? How was it that his infant daughter was giving him a life lesson?! Verbally?! Specifically a confusing, no hope, one? “That’s life, my friend,” she’d said. What Inception type dreamscape sequencing did he just experience? And he could still hear a baby crying.

It had been a dream. A lucid dream to the extent of its apparent vivid reality but not of a magnitude where he was aware that it was a dream. I guess in that respect it didn’t conform to the literal definition of the type. It had seemed so real. But for the fact that his ass was still firmly planted in the nursery rocking chair where he’d been trying to get Jordan to sleep. Also, it was now morning and the scrunched up face of his yelling baby was demanding attention. Boy, that had been some crazy ass Inception madness and he definitely wasn’t high! At least dream version of him had found his balls, enough to declare himself to the love of his life. He took heart from that.

This Avery thing of giving up and running when the going got tough, ironically, needed to go. If he was to teach his daughter anything of value it was going to be perseverance and to not let fear hold her back. This was his come to Jesus moment. Metaphorically, of course. His epiphany. The intuitive reality that April was his soul mate. And with that insight ringing as a resounding chorus in his mind that left only one course of action.

“Take 2, Ma Petite Chérie, Jordan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Delightful fans and supporters of “Jordan”, thank you for your patience and kindness. The Japril story is never a straightforward one. So, in that spirit, I’m leaving it to you to decide if this requires a concluding chapter or if you’re satisfied with the implication the ending provides…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hmm…so I guess that the interest has waned. Satiation attainment? Or deflation of excitement, likely brought on by the length of words, hyperbole and chapter? Not too enamored with the corny-copia of puns, hey :-P  
> Previous to the airing of JTS, aka Japril The Sequel, I would have said that the canon decimation of Jackson and April’s relationship could have also been a contributory factor. Either way, I was kinda sad to see both happening – the disinterest as well as the resignation to their non-togetherness. 
> 
> Now though, but for the small matter of on-screen Japrillessness and with Montana hijinks in our rearview, hope springs eternal. Similar to the phoenix-like resurgence from the ashes of their (and our!) despair, to the anticipation of couplehood, so too has the promise of them been rekindled. With faith and eagerness fanning the flames of a reignited GA Japril.  
> Ooh…much dramatic theatrics, right?
> 
> Writing this story, with specific emphasis on the previous update, has been cathartic for me. My own balancing of the scales of justice, so to speak. Of course, it’s been hella fun too ;-) Communicating my truth via the protagonist’s thoughts and speech has been a therapeutic tool. Naturally this interspersion has occurred within the framework of the characters own convictions. Those that canon has inferred, those that common sense highlights and those construed by my analysis of events. Also chucked in a smattering of their real life personas to mix it up.
> 
> To those who found the preceding chapter tedious reading, mea culpa. I suppose in that respect I relate to the heroine of this tale, even though I narrate from the perspective of our hero (apologies for the non-PC gender specificity here, it’s simply to avoid confusion as to which hero I’m referring to). The similarity to our heroine is that I too see 8 sides to every situation and I tend to want to share ALL those angles of interpretation. Hence supplanting them en masse to our hero’s sifting process. Through the looking glass: Introspective Jackson Avery. 
> 
> I’m also predisposed to critical scrutiny, bordering on over-analysis. Which, if you’ve gotten this far, you’ve probably already discovered. Damn, this author’s note is itself a long-winded thesis :-) So to the Japrilites along for the ride, thank you for not excluding yourself from this narrative ;-)
> 
> Since I’m not one to hold anyone to ransom for applause (gosh I hope not :-(...sorry if I’ve been pushy Jos, CC, Mon…), nor do I feel the need for self-aggrandizement, or even prolonging the pleasurable pain (maybe I’m slightly sadistic ;-) I will conclude this tiny ficlet with this first of a two-parter epilogue, she italicized with a smidge of self-deprecating comicality, referring to herself in the 3rd person, mid-note interruptus. 
> 
> Anyway…this penultimate instalment has been meticulously crafted (not totally lol, it incorporates much seat of the pants writing, but the former does sound professionally efficient ;-) for all of you who asked, with a special mention...  
> For that duo of kind-hearted, motivational, inspirational, fellow Japril writers – M&V. Thanks for taking the time to encourage. It’s truly appreciated. I see that you picked up on the Moana nod, Mel, and I caught your cue too :-P Consequently, to quote demi-God Maui (brought to you in song form by Maestro Lin Manuel Miranda with a heartfelt rendition by the main man himself, DJ The Rock ;-)  
> ♪♫ You’re welcome ♪♫
> 
> No ironic ego boost intended in this self-mention, but yeah, it’s for myself too. Positive reinforcement – a reminder to ‘Be Me’. Unapologetically, Unconditionally and with No Expectation. And optimistically, perhaps retaining a sense of humor?
> 
> So readers, you do you…read, don’t read, it’s all good :-)
> 
> Disclaimer: Purloined characters from the mind of Shonda Rhimes.
> 
> PS: A/N penned before Season 13 finale. Thirteen…superstitiously unlucky, portend of doom and gloom and simply horrific. Sums up GA13. I’m guessing that canon Japril annihilation – of the expectation of them, their togetherness, as well as their individual characters – in the S13 climax (anticlimax?) has much to answer for in respect of deflated interest. Will persevere here though. Survive, we will...
> 
> ♪♫ We are survivors. We’re not gon give up. We’re not gon stop. We’re gon work harder. We are survivors. We’re gonna make it. We will survive. Keep on survivin' ♪♫  
> Inspiration à la Beyoncé, specifically the Destiny’s Child era ;-)
> 
> PPS: For those of you who requested this continuation: Hope this lengthy chapter atones for the interminable wait…

It was amazing what seeing her mother could do for one grumpy baby. April rushed to grab her as he entered the hospital, showering her with kisses and raspberry zerbits while impatiently disregarding the blocked access of the seat carrier handle. It was no match for a mom on a mission. He was likewise totally ignored. This ostensibly being an unintentional consequence; it was simply a by-product of being the father.

Alas, who could resist all that adorableness? He certainly couldn’t. You’d have to be pretty hard hearted to immunize yourself against the appeal of that chubby-cheeked toothless wonder. Especially one normally gazing up at you from the comfortable vantage point of her Baby Björn Carrier. Yeah, the girl had multiple modes of transport. And considering grabby April it was a good thing that the Princess’s throne today was the infant car-seat instead of the Björn. He could do without the chest burn.

This would clearly not be symptomatic of any medical or food related condition (a rare non-consequence), or even the result of having his torso waxed. The latter was simply an observation. Not that he knew what the sting of dribbling melted wax attaching to individual chest hairs then being ripped off, along with strand, follicle and root, all with a tiny strip of paper, felt like. Definitely not. No siree Bob.

Anyway, the cause of this uncomfortableness was all April, of course, and her propensity for quickness. Speedy in every way, except for in the bedroom. Specifically referencing the area for repose, but when not much rest happened. There she took her time. Geez Avery, get your mind outa the gutter. At any rate, she was that rip-the-bandage-off type. Although...looks like he’d shot himself in the foot with this one. For the proximity to April kisses was never a disadvantage. Alright, mostly not. Shadows of past witnessed, nightmarish visioned, heaping of affection onto her then almost groom Matthew Taylor, being the exception.

And Jordan…well the little miss showed no chill either. She lapped up the attention all excited like. Grinning her wide gummy smile she showcased the slightest hint of whiteness popping. She cooed and gurgled in her animated baby-speak, simultaneously pumping those little legs, ready to propel herself into her mama’s arms. Grouchy to happy in one heartbeat. Undoubtedly spilling the beans on what a mess dad was.

Now while he’d surpassed novice level status on the domesticity scale, thanks to Training by Kepner, his knowledge of home economics was nowhere near his ex’s expertise. Damn Divorce. He thought he did fine though. Barring a few minor hiccups. Which, he had the feeling, his Babbling Betty was undoubtedly broadcasting. The evolution of Jordan’s language cues was indisputably April mimicry. Not unlike her mother, she didn’t know the meaning of “keep it between me and you.” Daddy’s incompetence was, by now, probably legend–…wait for it…and hopefully there’s no lactose intolerance here, because the second half of that word is DAIRY. _Legendary_. Barney Stinson-dary worthy.

His kid, he had to admit, was a perfect mix of her parents. In temperament too. He was quite fascinated, watching her Groucho Marx Jackson morph into Sunshine Annie April. Their very own physical embodiment of pessimistic optimism. Or was it optimistic pessimism? Either way, the manifestation mirrored the famous Seattle weather. Gloomy with the possibility of bright sunlight on the horizon. Conceivably, a vice-versa version. Maybe even a Freaky Friday.

The precept of April’s personality, her buoyant sunshiny confidence, he was happy to note, had returned with the advent of their daughter into their lives. After losing their son, he’d despaired at the double whammy loss, the second being the cheerful positivity that was April. While Samuel’s absence would always be felt by both his parents, this was tempered slightly by time and the knowledge that their little guy was at peace. And that he’d entered the unknown surrounded by love.

The death of a child changes you. While he never expected April to be the living embodiment of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, it did bring him a measure of solace to know that part of her character hadn’t been annihilated. Blasted into oblivion.

The birth of their own star, their Jordan Nebula, had caused this re-emergence. He smiled to himself at the seeming association. One could successfully argue that this was an analogy to the recent scientific discovery of seven Earth-sized exoplanets in a constellation far, far, forty light years far, away. In essence, it was a simple appraisal. A poetically flowery comparison to the sky’s luminous spheres of plasma. She came in like a shooting star, re-inventing the circle that was their family. And for that, he would be infinitely and eternally grateful.

Jordan had been restless last night. She’d kept looking around for her mother with the most woebegone expression he’d ever come across. Well at least since the day before, when April herself had sported it. That had necessitated much comforting. For him too. Parting was such sweet sorrow. The entire night, including Inception-scape, had been spent in the nursery rocking chair, with neither one nor the other, himself and Jordan, willing for her to be put down into the expensive but comfy looking crib.

Which reminded him, he really needed to curb these impulses that allowed his mother free reign into his life and residence. And specifically, an unfettered hand in decorating said abode. Lacking April’s soft touch, it definitely couldn’t be called a home. While the nursery was warm and inviting, the rest of the house was just too much…miles of glass and an abundance of ostentation. Not toddler-friendly at all. He’d have to rectify that situation before his budding Athlete/Surgeon and future President of America took her first steps.

Perhaps Jordan’s brother or sister had been conceived last night, his mind ventured, painfully grimacing at the mental picture this conjured up. Nah, that was not April’s MO. He consoled himself with this last, this one-eighty degree revolution of thought. That was not the way she operated…at all. He was simply venting at his own cowardice once again.

He supposed that his modus operandi required some modification. Oh who was he kidding? A complete overhaul was vital. As Black Panther Party African-American activist George Jackson wisely uttered: “Patience has its limits. Take it too far, and it’s cowardice.” This was admittedly in the context of standing up to oppression but relevant advice on an individual scale too.

So obviously this laissez-faire approach towards reconstituting his family, really just a laidback procrastination, was simply not producing the desired results. This slow-motioned carousel needed to be amped up to the likes of the gag-inducing, steep ascension and sharp drop, gravity defying carnival ride. He needed to up his game. It was time. He just had to make sure that the game didn’t play him.

He was ready. Butterflies in stomach ready. Bring on The Loop-De-Loop Roller Coaster, Kamikaze Dive Bomb and yes the Tornado Turbo Drop. He was so primed for action. Even Sling-Shot willing. Yeah, unconscious horniness for April apparent even in his metaphorical comparisons. Why, he already felt possessed by her. One moment the crescendo of an euphoric high, followed closely by the lows of freefalling terror. While Tea-cup Twists and Tilt-a-Whirls were mildly stomach churning, their flat speeds were not gonna cut it anymore.

It was time to suit up. And No, he wasn’t talking safe sex here. Playing it safe was not a viable option any longer. A state of harmlessness or continuous sheltering was for wusses and safe was a word he strongly objected to. Totally rejected. Ejected from his vocabulary. No. Nope. Refrain from BDSM jokes at this juncture please. These were strictly come PG thoughts. Park the sexual innuendo at the door. Access to Open Pun closed.

Parental Guidance was actually a misnomer in this scenario. For him personally, at least. Anyone with even a passing acquaintanceship with the woman who had produced his fine-ass self, knew that the current Avery matriarch made no bones about embracing no-shame sexuality. So conversations with her tended heavily towards sexual insinuation. No, that wasn’t right. She never hinted at anything – came right out and confronted it. Elephants in a room were never allowed to be ignored when she was in attendance. Exasperating as she was, you gotta low key admire her persistent inquisitiveness.

As long as he didn’t need to reciprocate, he was good. He was fine with playing possum…or was it ostrich? Burying his head in the sand about her sexual exploits was the way to go. He seriously wondered at times who the parent in their relationship was.

Maybe he was just being a tad prudish. Growing up with an uncensored Catherine Avery as his mother had, on the one hand, allowed him to confront his sexuality without guilt. The other side of that coin though, had him wanting to run screaming away from her meddlesome, unembarrassed ‘suggestions’. And that was the most innocuous description he could find to relate it to.

She was extremely knowledgeable about the subject. Extensively. I mean she specialized in male genitalia for Pete’s sake. Not that any Pete had any say in the matter. He was being facetious, but knowing his maternal blood relation he wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’d set out to fix all the Petes. The literal meaning of the saying, he was aware, was simply a common non-offensive substitute for the exclamation “for fuck’s sake!” So, apropos either way.

A phrase that he’d come across during medical school, stirred his memory. A particular definition from his psychology textbook: The hypothalamus plays a major role in the regulation of basic biological drives related to survival, including the so-called “four F’s”: fighting, fleeing, feeding and mating.

It amused him. Enough to stick.

“Psych! I see what you did there psychology textbook,” he’d teased the treatise.

In the context of these mental musings regarding linguistics and his mother, he guessed he could say that she fixed the Petes so that the fourth “F” biological imperative could be attained. Fucking mating, Freud. Naturally.

Still on the subject of Catherine’s specialty, he theorized that any guy would have to be pretty confident in his masculinity to even approach intimacy with her. A go to minefield. Knowing that not only would performance of the act be judged but also the effective combination deed cum package. Much respect to Dr. Webber, he supposed?

No. Strike that. Cancel that whole train of thought. Why the effing hell did his mind just go there? Must be the April influence creeping into his brain once again. Daaamn. Stay in your lane son.

His mother, however. No slouch in anything regarding sexual healing. Or just all forms of the art. Down to knowing what each letter of _that_ acronym represented. The overlapping abbreviation of Bondage and Discipline (BD), Dominance and Submission (DS), Sadism and Masochism (SM). Nothing PG rated for his mom.

If she could, she would have them as guardians for the cause of enlightened sexual education. Guardians of the Gallery Volume Doux. Gallery? Could only work if this was via viewed example, he reckoned. Shout out to gallery windows of teaching facilities. Real transparent frames, not the opaque technological genius that is MS Windows. Galaxy worked too. But not of the Samsung variety. Subconscious punnery probably? Or unashamed Android plug? Definitely nothing for Microsoft. It’s not like Bill Gates needed the endorsement…or to show him the money.

First things first, tho. His mother’s version of guidance would be prompting him. Since April loved to be in control, a mild form dominatrix, perhaps he could use this line on her…

“Are you actually into BDSM or do you just carry that leather whip for show?”

She sure would get a kick outa that. She was not naïve by any stretch of imagination, but she did possess a guileless innocence. Combine that with her daring spirit and you had one walking talking oxymoron.

Many had been the time when she’d dissolve into peals of hilarity (or ticklishness?) at his attempt to teach her some new position or erogenous zone. She’d been game and she had game. That he’d been her only lover, meant this BDSM shtick was simply his mind playing tricks of Glee. Or was it just imagination? Nah, he was being paranoid. He squinted. But…she _had_ been very keen on The Kama Sutra, hadn’t she? Therefore, an intuitive play? Damn Divorce.

So okay. The word safe in context of a safe word, he was prepared to reintroduce into his lexicon.

Justin Timberlake. That would be their safe word (safe phrase? safe name?). Well his, essentially. It would certainly curb The Punisher from meting out her punishment. Not that he was averse to a Kepner spanking. But he had divorced the woman. Who knew what kind of pent up rage she was waiting to release? So, err damn divorce?

With a mental pat to his back he sarcastically quipped, “Congratulations guy, you played yourself!”

Now wait a minute…hear him out here…no need to partake in the fisticuffs. Peace, man. Or Tuna Tuna. What, you may ask, do tiny fish have to do with anything? Nothing, nada, zilch actually. It was 60’s era peace and free love language that a…er friend…had created. Many were the times when he’d been in the Zen state of Tuna Tuna.

The quandary now tho, my deadass mate, was simply the Justin Timberlake safe word. He methodically reasoned out its appropriateness.

Point A. JT was teen April’s idol. Remembering him at such an intimate juncture could stop her in her tracks. Or at least cause some hesitance or even consternation.

And secondly, if she got too rough with him only God could perhaps lay a cease and desist order on her. Yeah, in Moline they called upon the mighty ex NSync-er. His name, synonymous with shame. He did kinda look like those blonde, blue-eyed renditions of Jesus Christ Superstar, gazing down in penitent mortification at his flock of sinners, true?

Reason Number 3. Timberlake somehow reminded him of her ex almost husband Matthew Taylor…a Justin wannabe maybe? At least it wasn’t an eager Bieber, right? Or a Becky-haired Baldoni? She would likely be red-faced, both physically and emotionally, at the association to that Justin lookalike. A Bright give-away. Chrises and Justins. Man, did all these white boys look identical? They were Indivisible.

Sooo…Did April have a type? And where the freaking hell did he fall within the line-up of these Usual Suspects?

Anyway. The only disadvantage that he could see, and it was a doozy of emasculating proportions, was that in the throes he could be calling out JT’s name. From safe to flaccid with one spank. Way to put a damper on the illicit excitement.

Before any of _that_ , the basics first. He needed to man-up and declare himself. Testosterone in its most benign form really with none of the extreme toxicity and aggressiveness that hyper masculinity as a social construct personified. He supposed that at the very least he could #AskApril out on a date? It was a start, right? With baggage, but a new journey…

He really couldn’t rely on his looks to get her reinterested or even reinvested. April put no stock in mere physical perfection – vanity thy name is Avery – but yeah it irked him too. His appearance he could not claim as an accomplishment – he had had no hand in its creation. Well accept for the religious workouts required to transform his sympathy pregnancy belly into a…as close as he could get to a six-pack – a duo of mini cans maybe?

Yeah, that’s what it was. An empathy bump. That was his word and he was sticking to it.

“Screw beautiful, I’m brilliant!” he at times felt like shouting out, pilfering the sentiment and accompanying arrogance of the self-proclaimed exceptionalism that was Dr. Cristina Yang. If you wanted to appease him, he supposed, then complimenting his mind was the way to go. An anonymously penned quotable quote that epitomized his approach to physical, and mental, attraction:

“Seduce my mind and you can have my body, find my soul and I’m your forever.”

So he doubly appreciated that his best friend (ex-bestie? did the severing of matrimonial ties dissolve the bonds of more than a decade friendship too?) respected him for his brain and was not a fawning sycophant ogling his abs and the genetic mutation that was his blue eyes. He was kinda mortified, and irritated too, by the constant harping on their prettiness. Why even his ex-mother-in-law had contributed to the furor. Knowing this, April had in the past coined a name game of the most ridiculous descriptions. Orbs. Beautiful Spheres. Sight Melons (his favorite…coz food). And Nice Face Balls. They cracked him up.

It was embarrassing really. The attention that his DNA Lottery garnered him. European beauty standard that transformed the defect of a pigment deficiency into a classical style. Probably soon to be appropriated by the culture vulture Kardashians. Those spray-tanned, Botox injected, fake assed, classless reality TV rejects who had taken to outright theft by ripping off Black designers in a bid to line their pocket-less jumpsuits. The sheer unhinged audacity of white privilege.

“Are they white?” — POC proverb, coined especially for their type and devised as a means of identifying mental and actioned fucked-uppness.

Dear White People…

Your claim to fame by stealing from Black people, adding the stamp of paleness to make it not only palatable but coveted to the Black-wannabe but still white privileged masses, without any verbal acknowledgement or even basic monetary recompense, will not be tolerated any longer.

Dear Caucasians…

What, from the bottom of my heart, the actual fuck?

Dear White People…

Restrain your white crocodile tears. Fake assness doesn’t fly when the hidden hand cashes the dough while the strobe lit billboard highlights the simultaneous PR spin of tail wagging the dog.

Neither will handing out Pepsis end racism…or police brutality.

Yeah, the caucacity.

His sarcasm game was lit.

And yet still, some more realness crossing his path…

Dear white people...

If you don’t want to be seen as racist, don’t make excuses for racists…Millions of black and brown people.

Dear White People…

If you’re pretending to be woke when you’re actually napping, well, you’re going to get noticed for it. You’re going to get called out.

For his delightful woke-bae (forgiveness please Danish linguists) tho, he’d have to put forth the effort. April had her pride. She would never put herself in the position of asking anyone to pick or choose her. He had to do the work of showing her she was wanted. Something not all men would do. Right?

Not all men, sure.

Rick Astley would never give you up or let you down.

Jerry Maguire would be incomplete without you.

Avataar wouldn’t not see you.

Haddaway would introspect as to the nature of love and plead, no hurt no more.

And Mark Sloan? He’d loudly contended that his protégé and said apprentice’s BFF, the remaining Mercy Wester, needed to become the other, all-encompassing type of friends. Thus, the crux of his sage advice would be – paraphrased ex Avataar The Movie dialogue –

“Sometimes your whole life boils down to one insane move.”

Here’s looking at you, kid, had been his own past unspoken toast to April. With all its inglorious connotations. Admiration from a distance, coupled with stagnant inaction. The undeniable driving force behind this mindset was to blatantly obscure the evident regret. Damn Divorce.

Of course his inner snark deserved an acerbic thought lashing. Probably in tongues too, if the awareness his presence garnered was any type of indicator. Which was not a speck of interest in him at all. For the amount of attention he received he could have been beamed up to a Martian spaceship without a blip on anyone’s radar. He was thankful not to have to contend with becoming an alien abductee experiment or even an Earth Ambassador. With the sad state of the US Presidency, he would be immeasurably embarrassed to have to take any extra-terrestrial life forms to his leader. Not that he considered The Tanning Bed Warning Label his leader.

That human imposter. Truthophobic Trump. That uncultured, cloven-hoofed, two-legged Pig (mental apology to the Swine for the comparison). The Evil Grin Reaper. Darth Orange. Tangerine, if one was being color authentic. Paleface too or even Porcine Pink. Real life Poop Emoji. Trumplethinskin, aka The Twitter-Spitter. Bratman! (exclamation sans musical intro) Cheeto-in-Chief or even Cheetolini. The Twitter Gaffe that kept on giving. Just some of the names attributed to the Famous Ignoramus. Included were a few that he’d gleefully coined himself and yeah every single moniker had been earned by Prima Donald. His absolute favorite though, spotted on a protest sign recently, Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist Nazi im-POTUS. Mary Poppins would be proud.

Philosophically, he considered…was it wrong for scientists to create a Pig-Human Hybrid Embryo? The resounding voices of both moralists and pragmatists echoed the question in his head. There could be only one. Immortal Highlander? Nah…well yeah, that too. But here he meant only one response. Which was…

“No,” he would thoughtfully venture, “but it’s wrong to elect it as the President.”

Being a previously devoted loyal citizen of the inanely glib named _United_ States, he was especially mortified by those descriptors related to the highest office in the land. For obviously, none were complimentary. With Donald the Menace as the object of this lesson however, his own response to the universe’s intelligent life-forms would more than likely be to inform the aliens to collect Humpty Trumpty on their way out. And, unquestioningly, to dispose of by any means necessary. Recycling definitely not warranted. Please and thank you.

Unless…if Karma was the prevailing school of thought, then he could get behind the repurposing. A reincarnated Dung Beetle Donnie Darko, pushing his ball of poo. Aside from the collective personal satisfaction US inhabitants would feel at the prospect of The Bilious Billionaire having his ass being fired into a state of being that was concurrent with his mental and emotional intelligence, said Toxic Bag of Sludge could, in an about face, become beneficial to the environment. His deflated existence would lower greenhouse gas emissions, thus reducing his carbon footprint. A fitting turnaround for a climate change denier. By the same token, the ejection of gas when the Trumpeter blew from his horn, could be beneficial to Mother Earth. “Thar she blows” is what Twitterverse would tweet-shout when the blowhard surfaced, mean tweeting out his blowhole.

It was humbling. This realization that becoming a parent made you invisible, what with the overload of baby adorability present. That end result, the pleasantly pleasing prettiness that your body fluids had a role in bringing to such delightful fruition, causing major goo-goo gaa-gaa meltdowns in many feminine wombs. Exploding ovaries, he’d heard the term employed.

But where did it leave the receptacle of that emptied vessel, that virile oomph to the Amazing Spermatozoon Race? Although, considering the sheer volume of motile tadpoles released, the title should be Amazing Spermatozoa Race, right? Amazing Sperm. Overcoming roadblocks, detours and blind U-turns in the race towards conception.

Now while it was chest-puffing flattering that his XY chromosomes were the determinant of the sex of their little zygote – with great power came great responsibility – it was quite a lesson in humility to realize that his best swimmers had to be exceptional to achieve the goal of effective fertilization. His little engine that could.

Okay. So really not so little. The vessel, that is. Actually, the opposite of Stuart Little. Some would say big – Big Baller Brand Pedigree big. Impressive even. Proud Black Heritage. He would say, you know...gets the job done. The package delivered.

Speaking of effectiveness and efficiency tho...

It was a sobering mindset. The sheer perfection and grandiosity that was the female reproductive system. It was also why he understood, actually a recent realization that he’d come to, regarding the unbreakable bond between a mother and child. It was like the one ring, forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Indestructible.

The similarity to conception, of relationship and ring, didn’t end there either. The path to destruction of both were fraught with peril. For ‘The Precious’ could only be destroyed by being hurled into the volcanic pit of its original creation. And the mom-babe bond? Why that would only succumb upon death. Perhaps not even then, if one believed in the concept of an afterlife. Discounting the science of it all, the connections between April and their children were and had been palpable. Transcending mere mortality.

He conceded that paralleling Tolkien’s LotR to the Kepner mother-daughter relationship was a crazy correlation. His mind had truly adopted The April Code, even though he’d been unable to really crack it. Perhaps numeracy was the key…mayhap The Fibonacci sequence could help him read the clues and solve the puzzle of her? Paging Dan Brown’s non-medical, fictional Dr. Robert Langdon! Stat! Dr. Bob had certainly broken Da Vinci’s code. Looks like he needed a Grand Master to paint the equivalent of an April reaction Gif and then of course have Dr. Langdon on a worldwide clandestine caper trying to solve this cryptex of clues.

First-off, the mystery of that ol-Latin phrase that originated in the wilds of Silicone Valley…Is it pronounced GIF or JIF? Or recently discovered, Old English addition YIFF?

Being that he was in covert operation mode and so lecturing to an audience of uninitiated non-nerds, Dr. L would explain the entomology and derivation of the word. Or he could simply google, bing or other search engine the acronym. GIF: _Graphics_ Interchange Format. JIF: American brand of peanut butter. YIFF: sometimes used to indicate sexual activity or sexual material within the furry fandom. Obviously the furry fandom had been big in the old days of yore, he opined facetiously. Or rather Dr. L would.

However, nowhere on the interwebs would he find _Jraphics_ or _Yraphics_ Interchange Format. That was, to put it mildly, gobbledygook. Even for someone of the intellectual caliber of fictional Dr. Bob Langdon.

 _His_ solution to the conundrum? Tell it like it is.

“It’s Gif, fool!” followed by a back to the head thwack.

Thank Bob for this humorous slant to their story. He should certainly thank Bob every morning. Of course he was not referring to Brown’s Dr. Bob here. He meant the other Bob. The universal Bob in the sky.

Nevertheless, The Lord of the Rings storyline was a strangely morbid comparison to the impermeable link of mother and child reunion...which was only a motion, only a moment, only a heartbeat away. It was an inappropriate analogy (and song reference?) for his mind to associate with, right?

How did human female gestation compare to the one ring gaining dominion to rule the world? It seemed his mind had created a ridiculous mental block at the thought of April copulating with anyone else. Anyone that was not him, of course. This person would play the role of malevolent dark force siphoning the goodness that was April from his life.

C’mon, it stood to reason. That Plum patron, club-hopping Lothario, all round loser douche-bag had to be the villain, right? It would make no sense if he, Avery, Jackson Avery, Double Board Certified Plastic Surgeon and ENT Specialist extraordinaire, was the antagonist and not the 007 of his own story…true? I guess one way to ensure which title held sway would be if he had to perform ear, nose or throat surgery on the guy.

Not saying what would be the cause of injury to any of those organs. Nah, he wouldn’t. Hippocratic Oath and all that. Also, he didn’t believe in creating his own patients. Nevertheless, a consequence of Club Plum Playa Sperm and his intrusion into their lives ensured that this villainous ‘take over his world’ dominator, this Avery nemesis, would be shaken...not stirred.

He enjoyed the Bond references contrived by his brain, but only to a degree. I mean, who wouldn’t. Suave, sophisticated, debonair. Man of the World. Licensed to Kill. But there was the rub. For in the medical fraternity oh-oh-seven was the Antichrist, in direct opposition to Super-Saver Surgeon Superstars.

Although he himself was only half-white and consequently light-skinned Black, he would play the role of white savior in this: The Sequel of Jackson and April. Granted, he hated sequels. They were usually just a cashing in of a created franchise by regurgitating a past successful plot, losing originality in favor of consumerism. And if his and April’s love story, culminating in divorce, was simply a monotonous rinse and repeat, how would the outcome be any different? Sounded fake, but okay. Distrust aside, he supposed that any hope of reconciliation was better than none. Right?

If he went with any type of an analogous juxtaposition, coupled with the retrieval of AAVE speech, which had for too long been appropriated by whiteness, the pertinent catchphrase meme that represented this state of affairs would be a sarcastically pantomimed “Cash me outside howbow dat?!” Decrying the terminology, his hope was that this follow-up to the original tale of them, was only such to the degree of rectifying past mistakes. Not repeating them.

Anyway, a reality check was called for.

April was giggling. How in the name of all that’s science…or math, did she understand Jordan’s gibberish, he wondered? Nerdy, Big Bang Theory Sheldon, with his scientific hypotheses, was making more sense to him than this conversation. Or rather, going with a comparison closer to his heart and representative of Black feminine superior intelligence, he would say real life mathematical genius icon Katherine Johnson. The Hidden Figure, immortalized on the big screen with such class and accuracy by equally talented sassy Black feminist Taraji P. Henson. As an invested spectator to the April-Jordan collaboration however, his interest was captured by the interaction between his personal feminine heroes. It was a rather endearing sight to behold.

She was quite the Wonder Woman, April was. Although, with the release of the revamped movie by the same name, his comparison game required a refurbish. And that was simply because of the association to the ‘israeli’ actress playing the lead – Gal Gadot.

He was still firm in his resolution of not acknowledging the legitimacy of the thieving, murdering, appropriated country she represented and naming something, he felt, tended to lend it credibility. However, he was aware too that using the phrase “the illegally occupied state of Palestine” each time to refer to it was not only cumbersome enough to derail the original thought but could also misrepresent the argument to indicate Palestine as being at fault. So his concession would be to refer to it as israel, but with none of the deference of a proper noun. He had a feeling grammatically OCD April would approve.

He would be boycotting Gadot’s Wonder Woman. In his opinion, neither did she represent feminism and equality nor was she a model of women empowerment. She was not an example he wanted for his daughter and the contrast to April could not be more glaring. The title could have been appropriate, had it not been tainted.

Gadot is an israeli who served in the military and supports the genocide of Palestinians. During israel’s major attack on Gaza in 2014, she said: “I am sending my love and prayers to my fellow israeli citizens, especially to all the boys and girls who are risking their lives protecting my country…”

Her words rubbed salt into the wounds when you realize that, firstly, it’s NOT your country when you’re an occupying force illegally squatting. And secondly, that israeli citizens were relaxing on hilltops overlooking Gaza as they watched IDF jets focus on killing large Palestinian families. More than 2,100 Palestinians were killed and 6 israelis. It’s impossible to hear of that movie and not immediately think ‘genocide’.

Gadot is a colonizer, an occupier and a supporter of mass violence. You don’t get to serve in a military, bombing a trapped population that included babies and children and openly support the shelling of innocent people, and be exempt from scrutiny. Racism and violence against Palestinians is so regularized that advocating it is just a passing opinion that doesn’t raise an eyebrow. Middle Eastern politics, they say. It’s vile to sit idly and remain silent while atrocities are occurring.

Supporting the deaths of innocent Palestinian people in their own territory is despicable and Gadot condones everything the IDF gets up to. IDF…israeli defense force, totally misnamed. Should actually be IMF, israeli murdering force.

Most people are uncomfortable after their mandatory military service, and it’s incredibly telling when someone comes out of their term actually enjoying it. She didn’t just serve, she is pro-IDF.

Celebrating israeli existence in Palestinian territory equals reveling in Palestinian extermination.

So Boo Hoo Hoo…what’s a little genocide among friends right? Yeah, sarcasm people.

Generally the world is desensitized to the suffering of people of color because it has been normalized...selective humanity. It takes some serious manipulation techniques coupled with mental gymnastics to be able to justify oppression and mass killing of innocent human beings.

People are jumping through hoops to defend Gadot. Making the feminist argument. That if people or women don’t support flawed or problematic media with female leads, or if the lead herself was problematical, that there wouldn’t be another female led project ever again. The “support us now and we’ll come back for you or do better later” argument. It’s white women exclusionary feminism at work. The gatekeeper for white supremacy. Women do not have to be proud of white mediocrity or the lack of human decency simply because it comes from another woman.

Since Wonder Woman had been contaminated he considered MOAB…

MOAB – Massive Ordnance Air Blast Bomb aka Mother of All Bombs.

But no. The word mother did not save the title. In fact they needed to quit calling it the Mother of all bombs. Motherhood is about creation, not destruction. Life not death. Patriarchy drops the bombs. So this too was an inappropriate correlation to the strength that was April.

So…unproblematic feminism, strength of character, beauty in humility and compassionate heart. There was only one popular culture parallel that worked…

She was April Born-in-a-Barn of the House Kepner, Fourth Month of The Year, the Unburnt Causer of Zinger Burns and Stings, Queen of Seattle Grey Sloan Coffee Carts and the First Female Healer by Scalpel of Moline Men, Lady Regent of the Two Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Seas of Ohio, Breaker of Avery Chains, and Mother of Jordan.

Now there they went. Jordan and Mother of Jordan. The indication to him was that they were discussing Jordan’s look. She appeared to be all set for B-Ball with a super cute activism plug, kinda like hero CK.

No, oh hell no, he mentally chastised his inner Dr. Pretty Boy Model. Dang, dog. Really. It definitely was not Calvin Klein or even Kenzo. CK wasn’t that common either. Off the cuff, one other that he could come up with was Cockroach Killer. And while Will Smith’s Agent J, of Men in Black, might personify that as a Superhero, that was not what he’d been going for.

Not for nothing but he could so pull off Caped Crusader. The Fashionisto classy version, of course. Chic model shoot posing in the sophisticated style of underpants on top of underpants on top of his pants. Also, flexible fad changing improvements representing as an elegant, tasteful refinement. Yes, it was the Romper Stomper...with vest. Shade: Pastel – the new Orange, which was the old black. Weapon of choice: The Fidget Spinner.

…And he didn’t even need to be bitten by a radioactive spider.

He had a feeling that he’d misdiagnosed tho. Identity mishmash. Bat versus Spider. Admittedly, he was kinda partial to The Tarantula – those hairy arachnids belonging to the Theraphosidae family of spiders. Spiderman. Alias: Spidey…also known as Spidey Klume, aka Mrs Doubtspider, aka Joe Spiden, aka Tarantula Basset, aka Spidermunt Mulroney, and deep cover Smith designation, Tarangelina Jolie. His spider game was poison.

Nevertheless, the acronym CK, obviously, stood for activist hero and ex football quarterback Colin Kaepernick. For sure.

The Legend. Fired for his peaceful protest. For taking a knee. Decrying antiblack racism and the white superiority that held no accountability for Black murder.

White rabid Amerikkka’s reaction to Kaps nonviolent protest appalled him. That this country allowed all but the most horrific acts of racism to not actually count as racism. That to their small minds, pointing out racism became more offensive than the racism itself, so that anything less than the most extreme cases minimized the horror and where everyday sheetless racism was consequently not considered racism at all.

It was way past time to boycott the pompous white asses of the National Football League. Through boycott and protest the power imbalance in the NFL should course correct. A small contingent of intelligent conscientized Americans were waking up. Those that weren’t red-necked, conservative flag loving, racist Republicans. What it meant to Become Human.

It was fortuitous that April had chosen a hero to name their daughter after, from the NBA and not the NFL. In actuality, since Jordan had prompted her own name, he was kinda impressed that her activism emanated from the womb. She was gonna be ride or die, womb to the tomb, socially aware. Fighting injustice and oppression. He couldn’t be prouder.

Jordan was in her tiny Jordans. While it had been a mission to get them on, cue one unhappy baby, he had to admit she looked fly…and already dribbling, though not in basketball parlance. And since Mom was loving it (that would change if she knew the cost, he figured) Jordan didn’t mind it one bit. Perhaps the miniature T-shirt proclaiming “I love naps but I stay woke” was a double-barreled swipe at April’s heart. Cuteness and wokeness. Who could resist? Baby girl was definitely milking it.

Suck-up. Not that he blamed her. He’d always loved watching a happy April too. It was when she was sad that he became stupid. Anything to try and remove the anguish from those eyes. Seems like Jordan had figured it out. Happy April made everything okay. A tiny part of his subconscious acknowledged this realization, causing an emotional twinge to his heart and manifesting as a spasm of the aforementioned organ. As a barometer for her happiness, April appeared not to need him at all anymore. That sucked. Big time. Damn effing divorce.

With no ElectroCardioGram tests and only a Cardio rotation under his belt – a requisite before he chose his specialty – he confidently self-diagnosed. Who needed unnecessary ECGs? Luckily the palpitations in his chest were likely not a heart attack. Probably gastrointestinal reflux. In lay person speak, acid indigestion causing heartburn. Word to the wise, spicy Mexican did not marry well with the addition of Thai hot sauce. This was the first and last time he ever used Sriracha as a dipping sauce for his Burrito. Okay, probably not. But tomorrow was a new opportunity to self-destruct. And while Tomorrow Never Dies, he could Die Another Day.

He blamed it all on Chipotle and the decided lack of heated condiments with his order. Heat as in setting his ass on fire and not the singeing of his tongue by the burning temperature.

With April’s attention centered on baby and his on her, he didn’t really pay any mind to the presence of the co-conspirator that was advising her, badly mind you, to put herself out there. Arizona Robbins was no friend of his.

Initially, he had been flabbergasted at this AA friendship. Yeah, his gast had never been so flabbered. He figured that if he couldn’t revert to hilarious youthful remembrances of the English ‘Carry On’ Classics then what was the point of these self-reflecting internal monologues, huh?

April befriending blonde playa Arizona, someone who had so easily cheated on the spouse who adored her, had initially been a mystery to him. Callie had deserved better. And Arizona had proven to be just as fickle in her friendship with April. She’d bailed on her numerous times too. She’d never had her back. But then upon reconsideration he realized that he shouldn’t have been surprised at all. From an April point of view, that is. Unbiased and not given to judgements of others, April gave her all and became the staunchest defender of the people in her life. It was sad that those very people, and he included himself in that entitled group, did not reciprocate but were merely fair-weather friends.

Surgeons, he despaired. Selfish. Arrogant. Pretentious and pompous. Riding roughshod over everyone. April was the anomaly. Kind hearted, genuine, forgiving and your unwaveringly devoted supporter. Arizona did not deserve this friendship. As for himself, redemption was key. He wasn’t worthy of her either. Damn Divorce. But…he was going to convince her to give him a second chance anyway.

One thing became crystal clear to him as he stood there, a bystander to the reunion. Jordan was a total Mama’s girl. You’d think they hadn’t seen each other for days, instead of the few hours that it actually was. Surprisingly, he was not at all fazed by this. Not even remotely jealous at not being first in line for attention. From either one. They were both his girls after all.

But wait a second…what was wrong with this picture? At first glance everything seemed okay. Hunky Dory, in fact. Or, Finding Ellen. He grinned at his witticism. He couldn’t seem to put his finger on it tho. For whatever the development was, it probably was a miniscule change to the status quo. And that right there clued him in. Well, either that or the Arizona butinsky convo.

“So it was a wig?”

He received puzzled looks from all 3 women. Well okay, 2 women and a baby. The blonde, the fine-haired no longer baldie and the return to red-headedness beauty. In no particular order. The Blonde and The Beautifuls.

At any rate, Jordan’s expression (most likely an expulsion of gas) bespoke incredulity, a sorta “duh” moment. Uncomprehendingly, of course. Must have been the look Betsy DeVos, Der Trumpkopf’s newly minted Secretary of Education, got when she asked, “Where are the pencils?”

Unlike DeVos and special Counselor pick, dumbass Kellyanne Conwoman, The Dick Taters Pussy Posse, he wasn’t being idiotic, nonsensical or redundant. The utter stupidity of The Incredibly Deplorables, trying to PC spin outright lies into ‘alternate facts’ left a bad taste in his mouth. Amerikkkan intelligence-o-meter was rapidly dropping into negative territory over here.

Not to mention the connotations of the rampant sexism and rape culture mentality inherent in the highest echelons of government. Nevertheless, he admitted to being quite amused at this overheard dig to The Dumpster.

“Pulling out is not an effective method of climate control Drumpf.”

In actuality it referenced the US withdrawal from the Paris Agreement on climate change, at the recently concluded Paris Summit. It was a double-barreled insult though. A knock-out punch on both fronts.

He hadn’t thought that politics could sink any lower in his estimation but the current administration had proven this hypothesis false. They Chubby Checkered it; seeing how low they could go. Every day following the previous seemed to be a Limbo Rock. The equivalence here was to Chubby Checkers Limbo Rock track and its trademark Limbo dance – he was not throwing shade or the talented Black artist under the bus. The Chubster slayed man. He was as far removed from Trumpster as it was possible to be.

Nonetheless, he simply needed clarity here. True facts. The phrase a grammatical redundancy, he was aware, as ‘facts’ is unambiguous, with the meaning inherent in the word itself. Quite the example of a Trumpeskey argument. Using their real, or even imagined but cunningly manipulated grammatical ignorance to misdirect invalid arguments. Transparency came to him from the unlikely source.

“She was quite the hit at the club last night. Brunette, brainy and voluntarily sober. Of the non-designated driver variety. Meant that they thought she wasn’t just looking for a good time. Add that to her trivia enthusiasm and you get one, much in demand, belle of the ball,” chimed in the instigator of the whole Mom’s Night Out…plot? mess?

Reading between the lines, with perhaps a smidge of his own need for it to be so, he would guess the latter term to be apropos.

Also, April was not an irresponsible drinker. She would not touch a drop of even the most harmless alcoholic beverage while still breast-feeding. It would have nothing to do with being the teetotaler designated driver. Hello…Uber made that a redundant requirement. Party girl Arizona was clearly clueless.

“Well what was I supposed to do when you asked me to be your wingman and then ditched me soon as we got in? I was only there to support you anyway. You know my lesbian trivia is sub-par.”

Before he could even open his mouth to question this strange segue of April’s, while mentally pumping a fist in victory that the club trolling was for Arizona’s benefit only and that Club Plum was apparently a gay bar, AZ responded. Leaving him with an open maw – his own selfie fish-gape pose.

“Funny. You’re – you’re funny. Still.”

“I’d lose that crazed smile before you start cramping.” April’s droll comeback.

“Want me to tell him why…”

Now he was truly intrigued.

“Why didn’t you warn me?! I didn’t know the Velma Kelly look was so much in demand by lesbians.” April’s contribution.

“Catherine Zeta-Jones from ‘Chicago’. You know, that musical. Quite the knock-out. Short, dark-haired bob,” Arizona clarified, noting his blank stare.

He was still wildly fascinated, if slightly more confused. Who was this Brunette Bob the Builder, what did he have to do with Catherine Zeta-Jones and more importantly what was his relationship with his wife?! Ex-wife. Damn Divorce.

“The hairstyle is called a bob,” April tacked on.

She knew him so well.

“So many great things about that girl. Her boobs, her rack, her chest,” Arizona gesticulated, holding her hands up, miming huge breasts. As if her Velma-cum-CZJ appreciation was not clear, she wiggled her eyebrows at him, grunting an “Ehh, right?”

TMI Arizona, he thought. Par for the course with AZ, just too much information. And none of it helpful. Hidden behind her deceptively sunny disposition and openness, showcased by dimpled smiles, lay a mean-spiritedness and superficiality that, upon closer inspection, was actually starkly identifiable. As was her blatant misogyny. He just never expected _that_ characteristic to manifest itself in Dr. Arizona Robbins.

He really did not know these people. He also wasn’t too keen on the fact that this was April’s supposed BFF. And it had nothing to do with best friend forever’s sexual orientation. Her objectification of women gave him pause. To him, her rhetoric represented the antithesis of feminism. The belief that women are only strong and equal after adapting the worst of stereotypically male behavior. In fact, he hated it and he loathed too the male locker-room style conduct she personified. This was again not the example he wanted to set for Jordan or the type of behavior he wanted her to emulate. This was something that he and April would have to hash out. Later. Now tho, it was back to Bob. Bob seemed to be a big part of his life today.

So anyway, that’s how he added that obvious non-sequitur of his own butting in question. Where he contemplated vis-à-vis April’s Bob Brunetteness.

Okay. Well, that was certainly reassuring. Not that April once again sported the mahogany strands that he was partial to, but the fact that her night out was altruistic and not shopping red-blooded heterosexual baby-daddies. The relief was enormous. While he understood her appeal to both sexes, he was especially grateful that she was not attracted to women. He had a feeling that the outright appreciation that she experienced last night, would otherwise be to his detriment. Honestly, even brunette April revved his motor, but hot damn those mahogany strands went a degree further. He supposed that he did have a fetish…an April fetish. Not the month, the person.

Reflectively he considered, using his go-to method of comparison. Which were movies, of course. And this one was classic. Miss Congeniality contestant when asked to describe her perfect date went with April 25th. Discounting the tongue-in-cheek beauty pageant humor as well as the true hilarity of the response by her choosing the meaning of the word to represent an actual, specific date, this was strangely relatable. April was the perfect date. Quite co-incidentally, her birthday happened to fall on the 23rd, two days before. Hence, that made April not only the perfect date, but month too.

Gearing up to ask his ex out on a real live April 25th picture-perfect date, he was stumped as to the candidate he hoped to convince to volunteer for babysitting duty. Neck flicks and chill would be a serious no-no for his second chance at making a first impression. Not even mentioning the strain of those contortions to his neck. In a lighthearted vein, neither would the real Netflix work. So surely someone owed him a favor? A somebody who wouldn’t be asking his mind to cash cheques his body was writing. He wasn’t willing and able to answer any questions. Yet.

It was a no-brainer. Warren was his boi, his bro. Loyal to a fault. Although he wasn’t little and green, either physically or metaphorically, he was kinda Yoda-like with his wise encouragement. Broda.

“Take desperate to a whole new level. Show her how desperate you really are – go all out. Go big or go home. Desperation level: intense.”

Ben’s advice did not spare him any desperation clichés.

Anyway. First he needed to secure Warren’s co-operation, then keep everything under wraps so no unwitting spillage could occur. Also, and this was just between him and the lamppost, but he was _this close_ , the fuzzy space between toe and toe-jam, to peeing on April to stake his claim.

Yeah, Ben Warren was loyal. On the one hand, an original Mercy Wester and member of their two-man Plastics Posse. Also hitched to Chief Bailey. On the other hand, if all those obstacles disappeared, if the eye of Sauron went down, he knew that Ben would give him a run for his money. He’d seen the rapport Ben had with his wife. _His_ wife, not Ben’s. Not Bailey, but April. _His_ Wife. Damn. Ex-wife, okay? Ben’s affinity with _his_ April.

It galled him to have to admit it, but Warren as a bystander showed her much more respect than he himself had displayed to her recently. And while April was dating shy and a tad clueless when (absolutely _when_ , definitely not _if_ ) anyone found her attractive, he had no doubts about her appeal to the opposite sex and to Ben in particular.

Admittedly, the green-eyed monster within (yes, he meant it figuratively this time – although judging by some of his behavior, him physically manifesting as a green-eyed monster could work as well), had reared its ugly head towards Riggs too when he’d first appeared at the hospital. I mean who wouldn’t be enamored with Keps The Machine. That worry had faded slightly when he’d watched their strictly platonic friendship, but exacerbated upon his divorce from her. It had once again become apparent that April was seen as quite The Catch. In every way. Including her being someone else’s baby momma. He being that someone else – the operative baby daddy. It was kinda depressing that that’s what their relationship had been reduced to.

Life and circumstance at a busy Trauma certified hospital moves on. At a pace that leaves no room for stragglers. Taking the bull by the horns even amidst fears of bull goring, an analogy a trauma surgeon would surely appreciate, he decided to approach her. Ostensibly, to get a lay of the land. As soon as Warren acceded to his request, after himself getting the Bailey go ahead, it would be full out April wooing. No more dragging his feet. He just needed to present her with a fait accompli. With any and all excuses she could come up with to refuse him, neatly resolved.

Astonishingly, _she_ paged _him_. And to an on-call room no less. Perhaps she too sensed where this was going and preferred the privacy. That was so April. Exciting and a willing participant to their intimacy, many times even the instigator. He loved the confidence and honesty with which she approached their love-life.

Perhaps he was jumping the gun here. Okay, no perhaps about it. They were nowhere near that stage. A doctor could hope though. And April had always managed to surprise him. She was queen of taking the initiative. Making that first move. Getting the jump on him. It was embarrassing really, his lack of willpower. He was an easy lay where she was concerned, an Eveready Battery. If only he was as quick of the mark. Jesus, not like that dude. He needed no little blue pills nor a consult with Mayfield in 22. April was his natural Viagra. With any luck this would be his time to shine. A quick draw and They Die by Dawn. Him the winner in this metaphorical shootout. Exaggeration aside, he would be the seducer and she the seduced.

So it was with much optimism and a sliver of trepidation that he responded to the page. Any way was a win, he supposed. He was hopeful at being either the booty call or the planner of one. He figured that any interaction that _didn’t_ involve their daughter – whom he loved unconditionally but could do without every discussion revolving around – and _did_ call for an on-call room was a step forward.

Adventurous as she was, what April wasn’t, was an exhibitionist. Private meant between “me and you” she would say. Of the many reasons he mentally castigated himself with, one was how the divorce papers went down. Damn Freaking Divorce. And also how he’d confronted her with the pregnancy news. He’d learnt to respect her edict on discretion since. So he was totally confounded at finding the on-call room chock-full of people.

Well, including them the count was up to four. So two more than he expected. Maybe he needed to revisit the blueprints to his strategic design. Some alone-time with his ex was looking mighty appealing right about now. They could do with getting away to The Cabin in the Woods. Not an emergency or Band Aid solution, mind you, but the beginning of therapeutic rehabilitation. For immediacy, however, the recommendation could include a consolidation of missions not impossible coz it appeared that some other big was going down here.

This was not about them. Jackson and April. Wait a Minnick…it had something to do with that Mean Chick, right? It did. Apparently current Chief Bailey had brought in Dr. Eliza Minnick to oversee and revamp The Resident Training Program. Over the head of old Chief Webber. Thus Minnick effectively became Richard Webber’s supervisor and immediate superior.

The entire situation was handled poorly. And in so scurrilous a manner. Displaying a devious disingenuousness on the part of the hospital. It was disloyal, disrespectful and highly insulting for them to attempt to diminish the integrity of a man who’d been the backbone of the institution. One who, on a personal level, had become more of a father figure to him than his own biological one ever was. It also set-up the grounds for a coup.

Twin advantages manifested within this scenario. Firstly, both April and him being part of an original resident class taught by and subsequently weaned off supervision by none other than Dr. Webber himself. The two of them stood united against the interloper. The second added benefit, for him specifically, was that it also opened the way for a subtle courtship to be interwoven throughout stratagems of The Webber/Minnick conflict.

Battle lines were drawn and they were ready to throw down here in this past-Japril-friendly on-call room. Even during this time of serious war strategy, he allowed himself a slight grin at both the amalgamation of their names as well as their concurrent thought processes leading to synchronized responses to the knock at the door.

“Occupied,” was April’s timely shout-out to whomever was banging. Pun unintended.

“Come back later,” he clocked a simultaneous retort to the wannabe intruder.

This followed by a coinciding “Go away,” when the pounding continued.

Sexual innuendo notwithstanding or possibly on account of it, they were completely in sync. Courtesy of past perfect practice. Aah, good times and a great positivity to carry into this crusade for Japril unification. Now while all these punny funs (exhausted by hyperbole, he let out one spoonerism) lent an amusingly enjoyable accumulation towards this cornucopia of puns, they were still unintentional. To mix it up he’d thoughtfully thrown in a hurried Tom Swifty jest too.

Caught up as he was in his dual purposed game plan of triumphing in the combat for April’s heart and the Residents educations, he initially ignored the newest occupant, number five, who bulldozed her way onto this virtual battlefield. She of the incessant knocking. Dr. Margaret Pierce. For all intents and purposes, his sibling. Step-sister, actually. Her bio Dad married his Mom. Which made them Family. La Famiglia.

Going by her stodgy sounding name (British royalty, English insipidness…enough said) one would expect her to be his older sister, which wasn’t the case. Overlooking her adoptive parent’s sense of humor by gracing their young child with a dull old woman moniker, the nicknamers at Grey Sloan, in a twist of kindness, simply called her Maggie. Or as he’d heard Wilson’s whiny reference, Thunder. Maybe something about bringing the Thunder? He wondered if she had a flatulence problem.

She was a good kid, Maggie was. A veritable child prodigy genius, apparently. Which, considering her biological parentage, wasn’t surprising. To be honest, his initial impression hadn’t been at all favorable. I mean consider who came before her. Cristina Yang was a tough opening act to follow.

What did astonish him about his early impressions of her character, was her niceness. Well aside from her initial foot in mouth disease, when she’d insulted the board collectively and him personally for shutting down Dr. Bailey’s Genome Mapping Project. She was direct and honest – traits he respected – with none of the haughty contemptuousness that automatically permeated the beings of Cardio-Thoracic Surgeons. Well okay, not none…perhaps a _slight_ arrogant superiority. They weren’t given the epithet Cardio-God for nothing.

He could make these claims quite confidently as this was a surgeon class that he was an authority on. Yep, no one epitomized snooty condescension quite like Harper Avery himself. And the medical journals backed up this claim to fame, many still gracing his grandfather’s picture as a cardio surgery pioneer. So yeah, he’d been weaned on entitlement. He recognized the signs and they seemed to be low-key present in Maggie. Bar that, she reminded him a bit of April too. To a point only, of course. No one was as nice as Gaston…err April. Shades of Beauty and the Beast intersecting with The Butler.

He remembered when Maggie Pierce had first arrived at Grey Sloan. To be honest, he hadn’t paid much attention. He and April were in their happy married pregnancy bubble, pre OI diagnosis, and the hospital had been in slight upheaval at Cristina’s leaving to Switzerland. The remaining doctors had been at loggerheads, what with the Yang vacancy and her subsequent unprecedented gifting of her board seat. Thus hitting them with the tsunami that was the Karev vs Bailey mini war. And speaking of conflict...Torres, when not fighting with her spouse, seemed intent on alienating all the other doctors at the hospital too. This had prompted him to assume the role of adult, then hall monitor, attempting to bring a measure of calm to all the warring factions.

Diving headfirst into the mêlée, he recalled a conversation he’d had with Torres about Webber’s fascination with Pierce. Since none of them were privy to the actual details of the Webber/Pierce relationship, to the outside world it had looked like a creepy old man salivating over a young woman...a much, much younger woman. He’d even sarcastically quipped to Callie that Maggie looked to be twelve.

He hadn’t been quite as impressed with Dr. Webber at that time, as just days before, the guy had been banging _his mom_. And while he had anted up an engagement ring, Richard had swiftly reneged on that promise. It had come to light that the hospital’s association with The Harper Avery Foundation – represented by his mother, Catherine Avery, whom Webber had co-opted into the partnership with the hidden agenda of hoping to become her proxy – meant that Yang became illegible to receive an HAF Award. Damn. That had been cold. Every part of it deviously duplicitous. And not an innocent in the whole bunch. So to see Webber, in the next second, appearing to be enamored with this woman young enough to be his daughter, hadn’t set well with him. At all.

Yeah, Webber had not been his favorite person then. Per April’s Jane Austen fascination he’d even concurred with Jane. Referencing a character of hers named Richard as having “never done anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name.” He’d never gotten how Richard could be shortened in that totally non-conformist method of nickname. But that was The English for you. So, the ultimate Dick insult from Dame Austen.

Perceptions huh? They were dangerous. Misinterpreting a situation, or an observed glance. A quote by author and Philosopher of Happiness, Jonathan Lockwood Huie, resonated. He said, “We see life through the fun-house mirrors of our own point-of-view.” Without knowing that Maggie was connecting with her biological dad, their interactions could be misconstrued and interpreted as a Winter-Spring romance. Some even called them May-December dalliances.

Getting the facts, without refraction or distortion, would change the dynamic of the observation. Then it would simply be a father-daughter exchange. He admitted to his own error in judgement. Thus, he’d been schooled by the truth.

Granted, there was that small contingent of eternal pessimists who inferred the most negative connotation to any context. So, to them, an innocuous setting could take on incestuous proportions.

There were also those who got off on salacious blind gossip. Inventing scenarios with the slightest provocation. Creating torrid affairs between two people who happened to be standing next to each other. Or even blowing an innocent interaction between working colleagues out of all proportion. Then, like a viral contagion, maliciously spreading their rumour creations. And so, A Scandal is Born. The Minka Effect?

In these times of online autonomous technology, troublemaker trolls who gleefully ran with the brewed mischief making, took to social media heckling. Cowardice hiding behind innocent looking avatars and icons. Never a direct confrontation.

So how does the recipient of all this bile respond to the complete bullshit? How to smack a fool down especially when their rhetoric is so preposterous? How does one remove themselves from the speculative bias, the dirt, the rampant buzz running amok in the court of public opinion?

To retain a modicum of pride, self-respect and self-care, there was really only one solution. To not dignify the utter nonsense with a response. People would continue their scurrilous character assassinations and attacks on personal integrity until the next spurious Scandal broke. The cycle of lies would then resume, with new players. It was all so bogus. It was amazing to him that people bought into the transparent fabrications. So he put it out into the universe, a level of authenticity…

“Don’t believe the hype.”

He supposed that, similar to the innocence of the Webber/Pierce dynamic, so too could his same relationship with Pierce have been misconceived. Since Jordan’s birth, the importance of familial bonds had hit close to him. It was something he wanted for her, people – family – to enrich her life. Going on his previous theory however, he knew that many would gaze askance at his views of what constituted family.

Their points were valid, he supposed. There were no blood ties connecting them, no DNA imprints of paternity. They’d met as adults too, so no close sibling connections existed. They were in effect unrelated strangers, one whose biological father married the others biological mother. This made them step-related. And that was sufficient for him. She was his sister. Any other consideration skirted some serious moral ambiguity. To him, at least. He would have to give a hard pass to even the stench of any GoT Lannister-cest type bullshit.

Not so Meredith Grey obviously. She had sisters coming out of the woodwork. And others she made into sisters and then made them sisters to each other. Sisterhood of the Travelling Attitude. Case in point, Amelia Shepard. She was technically a sister-in-law who was miraculously now Pierce’s sister too. And of course, with a mental castration under her belt, sans any gender reassignment surgery, Grey had christened Karev to be sister number three. He kidded, of course. There was actually nothing stopping a Grey/Karev alliance (repetitive, but with yet another Grey sister), except for themselves. Which brought him full circle to people’s awareness of what made up family.

So since Pierce was his sister and Grey was Pierce’s sister, did that make him and Grey sisters too? Observing the recent antics and interactions between these rational adult players, he figured that with family like Grey who needed enemies? He was surprised to note that all intelligent discernment escaped Maggie Pierce in this bid to emulate the bitchiness that was her big sister.

For someone that had seemed so emotionally healthy she had morphed into this vain glorious, selfish, sanctimonious Grey wannabe. Characteristics that epitomized Meredith Grey. Grey’s dark and twisty trope, he’d recognized, was simply an excuse to cover that she was way too lazy and egotistical to even attempt basic human interaction and decency with anyone she considered beneath her. The hospital’s very own Regina George. Quintessential Mean Girl. And Maggie had fallen under her spell. To the extent of flattering her with imitation. Mean Girl in the making.

He knew all about class, supposed that he was the poster boy for medical royalty. Maggie was faux-bourgeois professionalism then, a copied Meredith-learned arrogance and superciliousness coupled with an inbred Ellis Grey brilliance and intellectual confidence. Her Richard Webber soft heart had made her bearable but she’d let the mean-girl superiority of her feminine blood relations overshadow the kindness and goodness inculcated within her by her adoptive parents. Nature seemed to be trumping nurture in the battle for Maggie Pierce.

It was embarrassing for her too, when you consider that said hero sister was lying to her face about Riggs. Yeah, he’d not only heard the scuttlebutt, he’d unfortunately been privy to their exhibitionism in the hospital parking lot. The horror of unintentionally witnessing Grey and Riggs going at it was a sight he wished his brain could erase. I guess he couldn’t really be self-righteous about that, since he and April had done it there too. But there was one huge difference – April had been his wife and he hadn’t been screwing over his sister by getting with then lying about said sisters crush. Oh Brother, this sounded way more complicated than it was.

Now while he prided himself on being an excellent judge of character, he hardly ever put in much effort in fleshing out friendships based on his judgements. Abhorring rumour mongering and being slightly self-involved he, many a time, seemed to miss social cues related to character development. He also tended to see the glass half empty and rarely let anyone into the inner sanctum of his mind. With no hidden agenda, April had stealthily crept her way past his barriers and opened him up. To the point where he gave the benefit of the doubt, positively, to friends and most especially, family. So, in these brand new social situations his go-to phrase had become “What would April do?”

In light of his April mantra, comprehension led him to the belief that Maggie could be rescued from the clutches of her own ego and most especially her desire for acceptance and conformity to the diminished character that was Meredith Grey. He would save his sister – that would be what April would do. And Maggie Pierce was his sister. She ain’t heavy, he’s her brother.

He had to wonder what it was about Riggs that got all these ladies panties in a twist. Did he have to start worrying about April too? She was way more discerning regarding character so she would never infringe on another’s territory. But…the dating pool at GSM was kinda weak, so who else did he need to intimidate, to stake his claim to? De-Luca? Once again single Alex? Hmm…big brother privilege…perhaps he could set-up Maggie with Alex? They _did_ seem to have this rapport. Alggie…amalgamated Alex and Maggie. Sounded about right.

Mission date an April seemed to be on track. Coming along smoothly. Until it wasn’t. The whole plan was Derailed. By Chief Bailey, of all people. Overnight, the entire scheme imploded. And who happened to be the cause of the calamity? None other than a cackling Medusa Grey causing chaos. Her reflection enough to effect an exodus of screaming children, while she hunched over her boiling cauldron. Yeah, he admitted to some bitterness seeping into his thoughts.

Japril had been on the precipice. They’d started along the yellow brick road; destination: reconciliation. The Chief had suspended Grey for insubordination, then dangled Interim Chief of General, maybe even pressured April, into acceptance of the position. She’d shot the sheriff, but not the deputy. April and him were now on opposing sides of the conflict. He with Webber, she the establishment. So Damn Meredith Grey. Damn Dr. Bailey. Damn Divorce. Damn Maggie and while he was at it, Damn his mother too. He didn’t trust that fake-ass Clair Huxtable sister! He just knew she had had a hand in this. For the record tho, he respected her gangsta. And she was a good mother.

Everybody was Kung Foo Fighting.

It was enough to spoil his appetite and considering how much he loved his food that was saying something. But he sat there in the hospital cafeteria, surrounded by their colleagues and being educated about the fickle nature of friendship. Not one of April’s so-called buddies gave her the benefit of the doubt, all judged her harshly.

He considered every one and measured what April had surrendered to each in the name of respect or friendship, with not one in the lot showing any reciprocity. Yeah, his name topped the list. He was (had been?) her closest friend.

Jackson Avery: amicably divorced husband (Damn Divorce), father of her children, best friend and favorite person. April had stood up for him numerously. Defended him to Webber too when Dr. Webber had blamed HAF for Yang not getting nominated for a Harper Avery.

Arizona Robbins: apparent best friend. April had stood by her when everyone called her a lying cheater. She also forgave Robbins for spilling her pregnancy news to him. Looked after and took care of her when she was drunk, only for Robbins to cop this self-righteous attitude. Especially revolting when one considered that her own loyalty was in question. He knew that she was sleeping with the enemy. Her dishonesty and fake posturing was galling and actually disgusted him.

Nathan Riggs: admirer and apparent close friend from her tour in Jordan. April was his friend. He respected her work ethic, called her the machine. Yet his libido and hankering for old-hag booty had him bashing the very work ethic that he’d previously admired. Hypocrite much.

Margret Pierce: step sister to her ex and recent acquaintance. Criticizing and condemning April for stepping-up for her job and career. Trying to curry favor and kiss-ass Grey by unfairly and insultingly calling April a traitor. Ironically when it was Grey that was stabbing her in the back. Pompous-ass smugness much.

Alex Karev: friendly rival throughout the years. Condescendingly judgmental and mean-spirited to April, she essentially being the only caring doctor in the hospital. Especially jarring and hypocritical with his own physical action of violently attacking an innocent man.

Meredith Grey: work colleague that April had tried to befriend. Disgusting human being. Entitled, pretentious and arrogant. On the day that they lost their child all Grey had been interested in was getting laid. Not a compassionate bone in her whole body.

Richard Webber: old Chief, respected mentor. April had stood up for him, had been loyal and ready to throw down in the defense of his career. Whereas he was the person that actually fired her all those years ago. Reciprocity anyone?

Catherine Avery: ex-mother-in-law, esteemed advisor and past Facebook friend. April had respected her, enough to take on responsibility that his mother had thrust upon her. End result actually causing April to become the scapegoat of their schemes.

Miranda Bailey: current Chief of Surgery, respected teacher. April had always respected and followed Bailey’s orders and advice. Puffed up with her own power and self-importance Bailey had in turn manipulated April, in essence doing her dirty, making her take the fall for _her_ decisions. Bailey had operated underhandedly – no direct and honest communication with any of the parties involved.

Owen Hunt: true friend and mentor, almost a big brother. April had been a loyal friend, student and caring younger sister type. Even going so far as to recruit guy friends for him to hang out with during his times of lonely heartbreak. But apparently loyalty was a one-way street with the guy. The trust he was given, he did not reciprocate. He still hadn’t changed. Preferred to remain neutral instead of standing up against April bullying.

Bitterness aside he introspected as to why this seemed to be hitting him so hard. He was taking it as a personal attack on himself and that was troubling. He figured it was about loyalty. He’d been excited by this opportunity of a physical showing of allegiance and thrilled too to be with her on the same side of a throw down. They worked well together, always had each other’s back. It was mighty appealing to get to revisit that aspect of their Synchronicity.

But it was ironic too. With the test of _his_ loyalty, when she’d asked him to go with her to Jordan, paradoxically his devotion had been to his patients and the hospital – he was being the grown-up. With the shoe on the other foot now, she being adult and choosing patient welfare, the hospital, her chief and the teaching program, he was all butt hurt that her trustworthiness seemed not to be aligning with his changed views.

It was a case of extreme irony that both had swopped views to what the other personified before. In a way making up for their past mistakes by choosing the Divergent POV, which the other person championed. And since they were both doing it simultaneously, they were once again on opposite sides. Still choosing the other tho. Still protecting the other. Still adopting the others views.

It was too bad that resentment still rode him and that his self-contemplative brooding came to naught.

“There’s a code. And the code says you can’t take it back when the bullet leaves the gun.” If only Shine’s wisdom could have permeated his sullen, stubborn bitter cynicism earlier. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have torpedoed his Empire…

“C’mere my little bug.”

April surprised him at daycare, grabbing Jordan from his arms. “Oh, I thought you were…I thought I was taking her home with me,” he replied to his own unasked question.

“Hi…I just want to kiss her before she left with you for the night, coz I’m gonna be here late prepping for a department meeting,” April confirmed that his hypothesis had been correct.

“Got it.” His curt response.

“And then I’ve also got a tumor debulking to prep for, so…” she went on, missing (or ignoring?) his tone.

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?” Well she couldn’t fail to hear the acidity in _this_ acerbic jab. Or his irritation. Or his annoyance.

“Yeah…yeah I am.” She chose, however, to take the question at face value. High Road Kepner.

“You don’t remember that you and I started this for Webber,” he began getting into it. Out of the norm behavior for them, this immediate direct confrontation. Although…he had had time to stew and build up this head of steam. So this collision was actually par for the course, considering their new normal.

“I still support Webber,” April quite calmly countered, seemingly unaffected by his temper tantrum.

“So then you should have told Bailey No.” Now he just straight-up sounded petulant.

“And ignore my responsibility to the hospital because of a political pissing match?” Okay. _Now_ she was sounding pretty pissed-off.

“Oh,” he snorted, “yesterday it was a noble cause. What are you talking about? Oh but now all of a sudden you’ve got your shiny new title right?” Whoa. Full on outburst. His rage was way out of proportion.

“What? What does that mean?” And now he’d prodded the sleeping dragon. Good. He wanted her just as riled up as he was. Didn’t she know that her antics had disrupted his plans for their reconciliation? Damn selfish if you asked him.

“You realize how this looks don’t you? You realize what everybody’s saying…that you’re an opportunist, that you’re an overly ambitious…?” That came out all wrong. Who cares what others thought? Why was this disagreement going sideways?

“And you told them that they’re wrong right? Because you know me, and you know better. Right?” Trust April to immediately latch on to the flaw in his argument.

“I’m surprised by you, that’s what I am. Look, Bailey gave you a choice. That’s what that was. It was a choice. You chose wrong. Not too late, you could still resign. You could still tell her that you made a mistake.” Man…now he was just making it worse. Did he learn nothing as a married man? Abort mission, Jacko, abort.

“Yeah but I didn’t make a mistake. I have a duty to this hospital and my chief asked me to step-up, so I…” Quick. Interrupt man. You know she’s correct. You know she’s making sense.

“Did she? Or was that my mom…again? Telling Bailey that she should pick you.” Eh, wrong. Buzzer sounds. Someone please stop him. This was not a winnable tangent.

“Why would you say that?” The tone of hurt in her voice broke him. There was only one way to recoup…

“Ah, because it’s probably true. It’s not even your fault, it’s hers. It’s what she does.” Throw mom under the bus.

“No…no…it’s you. Because you refuse to believe I got this because I earned it. Because I’m good.” Aaw man…April…

“That’s not…” He never meant _that_. He had utmost faith in her abilities…and her loyalty. So the only way to justify his unnatural anger, which deep-down was simply disappointment, was to make someone else the problem. And look how well that had turned out.

She returned Jordan gently to his arms and turned away. But not before he got to view the devastated hurt in her expression. Boy, was he an ass.

Recent events made it abundantly clear that the fabric of the universe was unraveling. Reality as we know it, the matrix if you will, dissolving. Apocalyptic de-evolution. He looked down into the face of his adorable cherub, hoping for some commiseration, sharing the last word of his argument with her instead…

“Winter is coming.”


End file.
